


Arresting Developments

by htfrjolenz



Series: The Adventures and Perils of Davy Jones [6]
Category: The Monkees
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Crime Scenes, Drama, Drug Use, Foul Language, Gay Bashing (mild), Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htfrjolenz/pseuds/htfrjolenz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series follower to  'When The Cat's Away'<br/>   Davy sets out to make some new friends and establish his independence - and winds up getting into serious trouble</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: VERY hardcore sexual descriptions, foul language, violence  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing Monkees related and all of this is a work of fiction - it never happened except in my cracked brain. I make no aspersions upon anyone's sexual preferences

   "I _KNOW_ I'm not your boss or your dad, but I don't like that Dylan guy or his cronies. I _don't_ want you to go Davy."  
   "Listen Tiny Micky ain't tryin to be a _drag_. He cares about you n frankly _I_ don't trust this guy very much either. There's just sumthin shady bout him that sets my _neck_ hairs on end."  
   "You too _eh_ Mike?" Davy said exasperated, "I get it with Micky - 'es _jealous_ 'e is - but I nevah figured _YOU_ to get yer knickers in a knot."  
   "I'm hardly jealous Dave, I _TRUST_ you!" Micky snapped, "Why he has to hang out only at night like a _frickin vampire_ makes me twitch. What is he gonna turn to ash if the sunlight hits him? I'm tellin ya, he's nothing but _trouble_!"  
   "If everything is on the level, why doesn't he want us to come along Davy? Aren't we good enough to be there too?" Peter prodded.  
   "I'm not psychic! Maybe it’s because you three ask _so_ many questions. Maybe it’s the way you hang back and whisper together suspiciously - maybe its yer breath - I _DUNNO_ Petah! But just cuz Dylan wants to be friends with me and not you guys doesn't mean I shouldn't be allowed to hang out with 'im. I'm notta _child_ ya know, I'm old enough to pick my own friends."  
   Peter looked away, hurt and frustration in his caramel eyes.  
   "Davy, nobody is trying to take that away from you. Of _course_ you can choose your own friends," Mike tried to reason, "but it’s been every night this _week_. You don't stay home at night, you sleep all day, we're not getting any practice in and well frankly we _miss_ you little buddy."  
   "Maybe I like sleeping all day! Maybe I _DON'T_ wanna practice every _waking_ moment! Maybe Mike I'm tired of this place and this scene and-"  
   " _Us_?" Micky interrupted.  
   Davy stared at him with venom in his golden brown eyes. He grabbed his jacket and keys and headed for the door. Just before stepping into the cool night air, he turned to Micky and with a trace of sadness in his voice he said, " _yaa_."  
   Then he was gone.  
   Micky didn't have to turn and face his friends for them to know that tears stood in his eyes.  
   "You _okay_ shotgun?" Mike asked, sympathy in his tone.  
   "Not really," he said flatly, "I love Davy so much Mike, but I don't even _know_ the guy that just walked out that door."  
  "I know Mick. He's goin through a weird phase right now, just hang in there. The _real_ Davy loves you too.. he'll come around."  
   "I'm not so sure anymore man." Micky said sadly, "I'm going for a walk."  
                                                                                      *****  
           ( _WHY_ did I say that!)  
   Davy walked, head down, hands shoved in his pockets.  
           (Wha's _wrong_ with me anyway? They're my _friends_!)  
   He wandered his way the long way around to Dylan's waterfront home, not sure he really wanted to go. In fact he wasn't _going_ to go - until Micky had confronted him about it.  
           (So why'dja kick up a fuss?)  
   "Cuz yer a tempramen'al rotten _brat_ Jones who's gotta have his own way," he chastised himself.  
   He kicked a soda can across the empty stretch of sand, moping his way farther down the beach. He stopped and sat atop a large breakstone, thinking about how awful he'd been to Micky.  
           (Wouldn't blame him if 'e told me to _piss orf_ )  
   The sudden twist in his stomach made up his mind for him; he was going home to apologize to his mates and _beg_ their forgiveness.  
   Hopping to the ground, he turned in the direction of home - and ran face first into Dylan Roberts.  
   "Where you going Dave? Party's the _other_ way."  
   "Oh - Hey Dylan. I erm.. _forgot_ something at home."  
   The taller, slightly older man eyed him in momentary disbelief.  
   "Well, I'm sure whatever it is can wait.. I believe have _everything_ you're going to need - or **_want_** \- at my place. You _ARE_ coming right?"  
   "Uh.. sure, course I am."  
   "Well then, let's be on our way."  
   Reluctantly, Davy walked on with his newest friend, forgetting all about apologies and making it up to Micky.  
                                                                                      *****  
   Micky walked along the shoreline in the gentle evening breeze. Miserable and confused, he found himself drawn to the large boulder where Davy often retreated when his heart was heavy, his mind troubled. Perched atop its smooth surface he looked out at the dusk-darkened ocean, searching its depths for some truth or revelation. Nothing however washed ashore on its eternally ebbing liquid sighs, to comfort or guide his confused and aching heart. Davy's beautiful, tranquil face remained vividly burned into his vision, his stinging words ringing still in Micky's ears like a tape recording playing repeatedly.  
           (What’s _happened_ to you little one)  
        _**Who**_ was the better question.  
   Ever since Davy had met Dylan Roberts things had started to change. The sweet, funny, caring, carefree little Englishman had become surly, selfish, withdrawn and hurtful. Nothing any of them said made a difference, in fact, it seemed to push him to rebel - to assert an independence that wasn't even lacking to begin with. A light, misting rain began to wash in from the moody Pacific, January thunderheads clapping in the distance. Micky merely turned up his collar and remained at his post, seeking refuge in the storm from the one raging in his heart.  
                                                                                       *****  
   Davy sat in a corner chair watching the throng of partygoers move about the dimly lit smoky room. His second beer, half-full and warm in his hand, was nauseating him and he had stopped drinking it nearly an hour ago. Somewhere close by he could smell the sweet, pungent aroma of hashish burning, his head light from the contact high.  
           (Just get up and _leave_ you coward)  
   His legs however wouldn't follow orders, so he sat in the darkened corner attempting futilely to blend in with the wallpaper.  
The music was loud and strange to him, an indistinguishable babble with a heavy bass that vibrated him to his bones. It made his head ache, his ears ring and his heart beat with the uncomfortable rhythm. A few feet away two semi-clad females drunkenly gyrated against one another to the peculiar rhythm. He watched fascinated, as encouraged by onlookers they began to undress and make love in the midst of the crowd.  
   A sudden outburst across the room caught his attention as two of the partygoers began to argue. Dismissing it as a drunken disagreement he returned his attention to the erotic display that was definitely much more interesting. Moments later, however the disagreement turned into a full-blown fight, one man waving a knife through the air. Shouting arose followed by a mislaid punch - and then somebody screamed.  
   The crowd drew back - the music stopped. The sudden white rush of silence was ear splitting and jangling to the nerves. As the sea of people parted way, Davy saw the heart-wrenching cause of the anticlimax: A curly-haired man lay face-down on the carpet in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood.  
   Black spots passed across his field of vision as the room tilted violently. He wavered on his feet, the air in the room having suddenly been sucked out as if by a huge vacuum. The faint sounds of many footsteps and a cacophony of panicked voices faded into the distance as the grayness overtook him and he hit the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

   Micky woke stiff-necked and achy, having spent a rough night on the couch waiting for Davy to come home. Glancing at the clock he noted the time, and flummoxed, stomped to the bathroom to relieve his bladder.  
          (Little shit coulda _woke me_ when he came in)  
   Intent on giving his wayward boyfriend a piece of his mind, he took the stairs two at a time to their second-floor bedroom and burst through the door.  
   "Davy we need to-"  
   The room was empty, the fully made bed mocking him loudly.  
           ( _Huh_ )  
   Back downstairs, he looked around for signs that Davy had even been there: No wet jacket, no muddy shoes by the door. He hoped to find a note, an empty milk glass - a dirty shirt in the hamper - but no trace of his deviant young lover was anywhere to be found.  
   Perplexed and more than a little worried, he eased the door to Mike and Peter's room open and tiptoed inside. Standing beside the double bed he watched them sleep, breathing evenly, tangled in each other's arms. Silently he willed with all his might for them to wake, so he wouldn't be guilty of disturbing them himself. Peter smiled in his sleep, a child who dreamt of rainbows, puppies, Disneyland and days at the beach. Mike continued to drool on his pillow. Agitated, Micky kicked the box spring, jarring the entire bed. Stepping back a foot he feigned nonchalance and surprise as Mike startled awake.  
   "Huh-wha?"  
   "Oh, hey Mike."  
   " **Micky**? What in _tarnation_ -"  
   "Umm, Davy never made it _home_ last night."  
   " ... Are ya _sure_?"  
   Concerned and half-asleep Mike reached for his watch.  
       _Ten-fifteen_.  
   "What's going on?" Peter mumbled.  
   "Davy isn't home yet."  
   Peter sat bolt upright, exposing more than Micky wanted to see of his roommates.  
   "But its daytime! Davy _never_ stays out all night!"  
   "Easy Peter," Mike soothed, "let's not jump the gun. After ever'theng he said last night he may just be feelin a little bad and be anxious about comin back home."  
        Micky nodded hopefully.  
   "Less'un you want a show shotgun," Mike winked at the drummer, "you _might_ wanna step out so's I can get dressed."  
   Blushing, Micky quickly stepped out, closing the door behind him.  
   After some stout coffee, they made a pass of the beach, talking to some locals and friends: no one had seen the mini Monkee since earlier the day before. The decision was made that they would drive past Dylan's swanky, upscale home in search of their absent pal; perhaps the party had been extended and he was still reveling with his new friends.  
   The scene they came upon when pulling onto West Beach Lane sent chills along their spines. Police and emergency response vehicles lined the street. A crowd of gawking people milled about, eager to get a closer look at the commotion. Parking as close as possible, they walked up to the hub of the activity, gaping in horror, they clutched one another in fear and trepidation.  
   Yellow police tape sealed off the perimeter of Dylan's yard. Detectives and paramedics traipsed in and out of the two-story stone manor, and the coroners van stood morbidly in wait in the circular drive. A flash of panic washed over them as two men in county uniforms wheeled a sheet-draped gurney out the front door. Micky rushed forward, ignoring Mike's clutching fingers, ducking under the yellow barrier. As he neared the driveway, a deputy sheriff stopped him in his tracks.  
   "Hold up son, this is a _**crime scene**_. You _can't_ be over here.  
   "You don't understand," Micky gasped, "my friend is _missing_ \- he was supposed to be **_here_** last night, he…"  
   Sympathetic but obligated to do his job, the deputy walked him back across the police line.  
   "What's his name?"  
   "David Jones. Please, he _NEVER_ stays out this long!"  
   "I'll see what I can find out for you but you stay _put_!"  
   Mike and Peter caught up with him and got a brief update. On pins and needles they waited, the frustration building intensely in their panicked hearts. Moments later, the officer returned.  
   "David Thomas Jones, age nineteen?"  
   "Yes, that’s him!" Micky said desperately.  
   "He was transported to Saint Johns Hospital for treatment of a head injury.”  
   " _Quick_ ," Mike said," let’s get over there."  
   "I'm afraid you'll be wasting your time."  
   "Why is that officer?" Peter spoke up.  
   "When they're finished patching him up, he's being shipped over to LA County Jail."  
   The trio gawked in utter shock.  
   "On _what charges_?" Mike asked indignantly.  
   "I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Back at the pad, the mood was melancholy at best. A call to the hospital garnered no information, and the county jail could not tell them anything until Davy had been officially processed. Under the circumstances, Mike felt it necessary to put in a call to Tony in Venice.  
   "Ahh Mike! Buon pomeriggio il mio amico! How _is_ everyone?"  
   "Not so good I'm afraid."  
   He went into as much detail as he could with the information he had, right down to the dead man and Davy's arrest.  
   "Mio _Dio_! Quello che ha fatto! Mike call Gerry Santini right now and tell him _everything_. I'll be on the next available flight home."  
   Mike contacted the attorney as Tony instructed, giving the details of Davy's detention. Business aside for the moment, he turned his attention to his anguished comrade.  
   "You alright Mick?"  
   "No. Mike I'm _really_ scared. You don't suppose Davy had anything to do with-"  
   " _NOT A SNOWBALL'S CHANCE IN **HELL**_!"  
   Micky nodded silently, lowering his head.  
   "I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to seem so harsh. I know Tiny has been sorta _out_ there lately, but there's no way anybody could convince me that there's a mean or dangerous bone in his _body_. Now I dunno what happened in that house or how that guy wound up.. but I do know this: Davy had _nothing_ to do with it."  
   Micky exhaled a long breath, raking a trembling hand through his dark curls.  
   "I know that too Mike. Im just so.. _confused_ , by everything that’s happened in the last _two weeks_."  
   "We all went through weird changes around his age man; hell, Peter still is. He's just tryin to find himself n feel out his independence. He's never _had_ that before. He looks at all of us, a little older and makin our own way.. he wants to be recognized as a man, free to make decisions and smart enough to get it right."  
   "Yaa but he's _not_!"  
   "Well I didn't get it right ever' time myself.. learned the _hard_ way more n wunst. He will too."  
   Micky offered a wry smile.  
   "I hope he has a _chance_ after this."  
   "Michael," Peter called from the kitchen, "it’s the attorney on the phone."  
                                                                                      *****  
  Davy sat in the holding cell terrified and feeling more alone than he ever had. Kicking himself, he wished desperately that he could go back, and heed his friends’ advice. His head was aching, bruised from connecting with the thinly carpeted floor. His reward for his behavior of late was seven stitches and an uncertain future behind bars.  
   " _Jones_."  
   A suited man with thinning hair, clean-shaven, and medium of build called him from beyond the locked door.  
   "Y- _yes_ sir," he stammered, coming to his feet.  
   "Come with me son."  
   With a large set of heavy keys, he opened the cell gate and let him out. Taking him firmly by the arm, he guided him into a small room with two chairs and a rusty metal table. Seating him against the wall, he shackled his leg to an o-ring embedded in the floor and left the room. He returned momentarily, bringing with him a legal pad and pen and a tan file folder.  
   "Something to drink?" He offered the nervous young man.  
   "C-could I have some water, _p-please_?"  
   He left again, reappearing immediately with an icy-cold bottled water.  
   "Thank you."  
   "Tell me David, how it is you came to have Roger Perry's blood all over your hand and shirt?"  
   "I.. I dunno. I don' even _know_ the bloke."  
   "Really? You were at the same party."  
   "Yes I know but-"  
   "And the murder weapon was found lying underneath your left hand."  
   "You cahn't _possibly_ think that - that I …”  
   "I understand you were involved in an argument on the beach a week or so back with another young man - a _Benjamin Worthington_?"  
   "Ben, yaa. Not an argument really, we had a disagreement over -"  
   "And Ben Worthington is the first cousin of _Roger Perry_."  
   "I didn't know that."  
   "Of course you did. In fact Roger Perry _confronted_ you at the party last night _didn't_ he David."  
   "No, I _told_ y-"  
   "The two of you argued and it got out of hand."  
   "It wasn't _me_!"  
   "What if told you we have witnesses who say otherwise?”  
   Davy was stunned silent. He was beginning to sweat and tears were welling in is panicked young eyes.  
   "Look, officer?"  
   "Billows, _Detective_ Billows."  
   "Detective Billows, I was _there_ lahst night. I _saw_ some of what happened. But I don't know this _Perry Rogers_ n I didn't pick a fight with anyone, I _swear_!"  
   "Ok Jones if you wanna do it the hard way I-"  
   He was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door.  
   Out in the hallway Davy could make out disgruntled voices, but no words. Minutes stretched out endlessly, his mind a tangled whirl of frightening scenarios. The door opened once more, and to his great relief it was a friendly face.  
   "Hello kiddo, you okay?"  
   "Oh my _GOD_ Gerry - am I glad to see _you_!’  
                                                                                      *****   
   Hours later, arrangements were made for Davy's bail and release into the attorney's custody. With no further interrogation, and the booking process completed he finally arrived home at seven-fifteen. Humiliation and utter shame colored him as he faced his roommates, unable to look them in the eye he stared at his feet as he spoke.  
   "You guys - I.. I'm _so sorry_ , fer ev’rythin. Wha' I said, 'ow I acted. If you never _speak_ to me again, I wouldn't blame you."  
   He turned away to go to his room.  
   "Davy?" Micky said softly.  
       He looked up, strained but hopeful.  
   Without a word, Micky stepped forward and took him into his aching arms. They hugged tightly, swaying, as if lost in the moment.  
   "I don't understand, 'ow can you still _love_ me?" Davy whispered, "ahftah I was _such a jerk_?”  
   "I just _do_."  
   "Are you _hungry_ Tiny?" Mike asked, a gentle forgiving smile on his lips.  
   "No, thanks Mike. I'm gonna shower n jus' go to bed."  
   "Davy," Peter said sincerely, "I know you didn't do whatever they think you did. Your heart is too good."  
   "Thanks Pete," he smiled, "that means a lot."  
   He retreated upstairs, leaving the boys alone with Gerry.  
   "Peter we don't even know what he's been charged with yet."  
   "I know that Micky. But I know he's innocent, his heart is too pure and loving to do anything _really_ bad."  
   "So what _are_ they charging him with Mr. Santini?" Mike asked.  
   "There's a list, and it’s _not_ good. The least of his worries they have him dead to rights on - underage drinking. His blood alcohol content was point o-three. If it’s his first offense, he will probably get probation. What concerns me is although they haven't formally charged him, David is their prime suspect in the stabbing death of Roger Perry."  
   " ** _WHAT_**??"  
   "That's _INSANE_!'  
   "Mr. Santini Davy wouldn't hurt a _fly_!"  
   "I don't have the impression of him that he would, and he insists that he witnessed someone else commit the act. He _cannot_ however give a reasonable description, and three people gave _sworn statements_ that David and Roger had words - and that they saw David stab him. The man's blood was on his hands and shirt, and he was found by law officers on the scene, passed out on the floor with the murder weapon under his left hand. "  
   "Davy doesn't _own_ a knife, or _carry_ one," Micky said.  
   "Even if he did, he's _right handed_ ," Mike pointed out.  
   "How could he give a good description if he'd been drinking? Davy doesn't drink much, he gets fuzzy headed easily," Peter chimed in.  
   "Good one Peter!" Micky enthused.  
   "All very logical points, and believe me I'm not going to let him spend the rest of his life in prison for something I don't believe he's done."  
   "They could _do_ that?" Micky gasped.  
   "If he’s charged and convicted of voluntary manslaughter yes. If he goes down for first-degree murder, he could be facing the death penalty. Please, don't say anything to him just now - he has no idea. I don't want to frighten him."  
   The three American Monkees stared silently, in terrified disbelief.  
        The little British Monkee crept quietly from his perch at the top of the stairs, and cried alone on his pillow.  
                                                                                      *  
   Tony arrived in LA at six thirty the following morning. He caught a cab back to Malibu and was home by eight o'clock. Depositing his luggage just inside the door, he went straight over to see Davy. The boys were in the kitchen having coffee, and offered Tony a stout cup.  
   "Davy still asleep?"  
   "Yaa," Micky said, "he tossed and turned till two am."  
   "I spoke to Gerry yesterday, this thing looks pretty bleak. I'm dying to know Mike, what in the _HELL_ was he doing over there in the first place?"  
   Taken aback by the pointed tone and fiery glare, Mike uncharacteristically fumbled for his tongue.  
   "Well I.. that is he …"  
   "Don't blame Mike."  
   Nobody had heard the young Englishman tiptoe down the stairs.  
   "Davy," Tony greeted flatly.  
   The disappointment and anger flashed plainly in Tony's eyes and manner. Fatigued from his flight and afraid for his ward's future he was far from himself.  
   "Can we talk Tony, in private?"  
   "Sure kiddo, that's not a problem. Let's go home."  
   "You mean to _your_ place?" Micky said, alarm in his voice.  
   "No amici I don't. It's obvious I've made a big mistake letting Davy so far out of my sight - away from my hand. As of today, he's moving back into _my_ house."  
   "Tony _PLEASE_ -"Davy began to object.  
   "The subject is _closed_ il mio cuore. I'm sorry; my mind is made up. Come and let's talk, you can get your things later."  
   Davy silently followed him out of the house, his heart in pieces, tears dripping to the floor. No one spoke, as only anguished cries would have poured out of their mouths. They watched in limbo as he closed the door behind him.

  Tony remained silent until he and Davy were seated at the kitchen table. Wet faced and befuddled, Davy's thoughts were in hyper-drive.  
   "I know you're upset with my decision, I am sorry."  
   "Yes I _am_! I cahn't b' _lieve_ yer gonna do this to me!"  
   "Kiddo you did this to _yourself_. You and your reckless friends next door! I don't know what possessed Mike - _any_ of them for that matter - to allow you to wind up in a house full of drugs, alcohol and debauchery. I left you in their responsibility, and they _**failed miserably**_. You've _REALLY_ let me down Davy, and they have too."  
   "That's ' _ardly_ fair, you don't know 'ow _freakin 'ard_ they fought to keep me away from Dylan n that pahrty! I'm not **twelve** ya know, I'm nineteen. They 'ad no more right or ability to stop me from making me own choices than _**YOU**_ should 'ave! S'the bloody _**fuckin**_ bullshit laws of my _stupid_ native England that even gives you the power - you who’s _ONLY_ five n a half years older than me - to run my life! Or should I say _ruin_ it."  
   "I really think that's enough."  
   "Really? _Sorry_ bout that. Would yer like me t'call someone else n see if _THEY_ give a _**FUCKING FARTHING**_? Cuz I bloody well **don't**!"  
   It happened with such lighting speed and suddenness that it was done before either of them fully registered what took place.  
   Tony's right hand, developing a mind of its own, snaked out hard and fast, connecting with Davy's left cheek. He paled immediately, the backhand slap leaving a stark red welt against the whiteness of his fear-flushed skin. Silenced by the heartbreaking blow, Davy stared mutely at his guardian. Instantly regretting his rash behavior tears sprang from Tony's eyes as he crushed the young man against his chest in a sorrowful and heartfelt embrace.  
   "Davy! Oh _GOD Davy_ \- **Please** \- il mio unico amato, _forgive_ me, I _**beg of you**_!"  
   "I'm sorry too," he softly cried through his tears, "I-I've never s-spoken to _any_ one that way. Tony, please I-"  
   "Shhh, don't. We are both very impassioned. I _love_ you my precious one, please; _lets begin again_. Go and wash your face."  
   When he returned two steaming cups of tea were steeping on the table.  
   "A little better?" Tony asked.  
   "Yes, a little. Tony, I'm scared to _death_. I heard Gerry yesterday, talking to the guys. I don' want to go to prison, or.. _worse_! I know I messed up, but Tony I _SWEAR_ to you, I _**didn't kill that guy**_!"  
   "I know you didn't. I don't need any proof or evidence or witness testimony. Davy, you're just _not_ that kind of person."  
   "I don't understand why someone would say that I did this - that they SAW me - I was on the other side of the room.”  
   "I'm told you had blood on your hands, your clothes. Any idea how that happened?"  
   "Not exactly, the only thing I can figure is when I saw the guy _d-dead_ on the floor and all the.. the _blood_ \- I passed out. When I came to, my hands were stretched out above me 'ead, in.. in h-his-"  
   "Drink your tea. Calm down kiddo."  
   Tony waited quietly as Davy gathered himself together.  
   "Okay?"  
   "Y-yes."  
   "Listen, let's set this aside for now. Gerry is coming by tonight to discuss our options, no point in going over it twice."  
   "Tony?"  
   "Yes?"  
   "Do I _really_ hafta move back in here?"  
   Deep in contemplation, a plausible silence stretched between them. After a moment, Tony finally answered.  
   "Davy, I've already said and done things that I can't take back, things that I'll regret for the rest of my days. For the time being, until I have given it a great deal of consideration, I'm afraid that my answer is yes. Give me a few days at least, and I'll give you my final decision."  
   Davy lowered his head. His eyes filled with a terrible sadness he spoke so low that Tony had to strain to hear him.  
   "May I still see _Micky_?"  
   "I'll allow Micky to come visit you _here_. You're not to go next door without my supervision, no overnighters and no.. _conjugal_ relations. I'm truly sorry Davy."


	3. Chapter 3

   "I still don't get why you wanna screw with that guy Dylan, he didn't _do_ anything to anybody."  
   "Melody it isn't necessary for you to understand everything - or _possible_ considering your intelligence. Just keep your mouth shut and your tight little _ass_ in line. Hand me my tray."  
   "You're gonna smoke another one? You're burning through a _lot_ of grass lately."  
   "My grass, my money, my _fucking_ business."  
   " _Jeez_ Dyl."  
   "Get the door."  
   " _Whatever_."  
   "Dylan my man. What's the good word?"  
   "Rocket! The word is down, as in _sit_ and burn a celebratory one with me."  
   "So it’s all good then?"  
   "Course it is. Didn't I tell you I could spot a weak-kneed pigeon at a hundred paces?"  
   "What about Perry's shit?"  
   " _Fuck_ Rocket."  
   Ben looked hesitantly at Melody.  
   "Bitch I'm hungry," Dylan spat at his girlfriend, "go up to Mondo Burger and get me and Ben a couple of number two's."  
   "Just sweep me off my _feet_ Dylan," she said dryly, "I'll need some cash."  
   He reached for his wallet and produced a twenty.  
   "What _I_ don't get to eat?"  
   "Get a side salad; your arms are gettin flabby."  
   "My knight in shining armor," she said sarcastically, and walked out the door.  
   When she had gone, the two men resumed their discussion.  
   "Don't talk smack in front of Mel. She’s developing a conscience over that little _faggot limey_ kid."  
   "You think she'll spill?"  
   "She isn't _THAT_ stupid. Still the less she knows the _better_. As far as Roger's turf its lock, stock and barrel - just gonna have to hang low for a bit."  
   He struck a match and lit the tip of the joint, inhaling deeply. Passing it to Ben he smiled.   
   "Before long we'll be LA kingpins, rolling in the _big_ money - and that little _queer boy_.. he'll be giving _**knob jobs**_ in San Quentin."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Micky sat listlessly staring at nothing, feeling as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. Peter and Mike had made every effort to console the young Italian, but he was beyond anything they could do or say. It was hard enough to know that Davy would have to move back out. When his little one called with news of the new rules applied to their relationship, he sank quickly into a deep despair.  
   Peter sat nearby, playing a melancholy tune on his guitar as he often did when he was sad. Depressed and antsy, Mike excused himself to go for a walk on the beach. Slipping out the back bay doors, he hurried next door to speak to Tony alone.  
   "Mike, please come in."  
   "Tony, I'd really appreciate it if you'd give me just a little bit of your time."  
   Knowing Mike's general intentions, Tony sighed and invited him into the large front room.  
   "I know what's on your mind my friend," Tony quickly broke the ice.  
   "I _have_ to tell you how I feel. Don't get me wrong, I think you're a fine man and I know that you have Tiny's _best interests_ at heart. But I don't agree with you separating him from Micky _or_ the home he loves. Ya see all he wanted was to make some new friends. He wanted the freedom to make his own decisions and fail or succeed by his own hand. We all _know_ that he didn't do this theng they're blamin him for. The things he done wrong he regrets.. n that's _growin_. I cain't tell ya your bizness - _not_ what I'm here to do. I just wancha to think real hard fore ya take away ever’theng he's _**never**_ had."  
   "Tell me Mike, the night of the party, was there any - _issue_ \- over him going?"  
   "Well yaa, I'm afraid that there was. He had been hangin around with that Dylan guy for over a week n things just felt off to me, Micky and Peter. I got on my soapbox and lectured him some; n Micky was givin him a purty hard time too. He got angry n left and well mebbe - just _mebbe_ mind you - he'd a not even went if we would just let him use his own head. He's small and a little naive, n well it makes it hard to remember sometimes that he _is_ a grown man."  
   Tony was thoughtful. Mike's words were true and very wise, giving him much to consider. He seemed lost in the intricacies of the patterned fabric of his armchair, absently gesturing with his hand as his thoughts broiled over in his mind.  
   "Do you know how Davy met this Dylan person?"  
   "Yes. Davy and Micky had spent the afternoon on the beach, hanging out, holding hands - I think they went for a horseback ride. Well long about sundown they were having a lil picnic, just some wine n sandwiches Davy threw together, n some feller come along name of Ben starts messin with Davy, calling him a _queer_ boy."  
   "Really?"  
   "Yep and a purty big ol boy at that. Well Davy didn't bite, they just packed up their picnic n was coming back home, well feller wouldn't have it. Wants to pick a fight with him. Along comes Dylan Roberts. Tells big boy they should agree to disagree n if he _cain't_ to mosey on down the road. Ben leaves, Davy is impressed, Micky gets jealous and it’s all downhill from there."  
   "Hm, interesting.. _convenient_ too. Thank you Mike."  
   He paused.  
   "I want you to know your opinion is _very_ important to me. It means a lot to me that you care enough to come and face me with your feelings. I'll give it a lot of thought, _truly_."  
                                                                                   *  
  That evening Tony asked Micky to supper with him and Davy. After their meal, he allowed the pair to spend some time alone in the front room while he tidied up the kitchen.  
   "I can't believe he's making you _move out_.'  
   "This is killin me Micky, I don' understand _any_ of this."  
   Davy rested his head against the strong, supportive shoulder beside him. He wanted desperately to bury his face in Micky's neck, inhaling his scent, wrapped in protective and loving arms. Micky planted a tender kiss on his forehead, his arm about Davy's shoulder.  
   Tony came in behind them unexpectedly. Scrambling apart they quickly put some distance between them on the small sofa.  
   "I don't expect you two to act as if you're at the _church social_. You can sit closer together; I'm not _THAT_ evil and hardcore."  
Relieved, Micky grinned, scooping up his fella and depositing him neatly in his lap. Ducking his head, Davy blushed hotly.  
   "Mick I invited you here for several reasons. I enjoy your company and wanted to have you over. I wanted the two of you to have some time together, but I also felt we needed to talk about things, the _three_ of us."  
   "We all talk?" Micky ventured bravely, "or we listen and _**you**_ talk?"  
   "Okay, I'm going to _own_ that one. I admit I was rather abrupt and single minded this morning. I want now to communicate, a give and take - _all_ of us."  
   Micky nodded.  
   "I don't want to seem disrespectful," Davy spoke quietly, "if your mind is made up, wha's the _point_?"  
   "Have you ever known another full-blooded Italian Davy?"  
   "No.”  
   "We have four basic characteristics that are true to every one of us: A passion for _food_ , a _great l **ove**_ of family, we talk with our _hands_ and our mouths go into motion _way_ before our brains can catch up."  
   Micky's vehement nod made Davy laugh in spite of his sullen mood.  
   " _THAT_ is what's been missing all day long," Tony grinned. "that million-watt smile!"  
   "Haven't gotta lot to smile over just now, _sorry_."  
   "Well, let’s see how much of that we can remedy."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Micky walked in the front door of the pad with Davy trailing behind him. Mike looked up from his sheet music, misery in his dark eyes.  
   "Hey Tiny," he said in a weak voice, "you come to gitcher stuff?"  
   Davy kicked off his shoes, and stripping out of his shirt lay back on the couch.  
   Mike blinked in puzzlement, turning to Micky for answers.  
   "After dinner Tony sat and talked with Davy and me. He said he overreacted and that sometimes it’s too easy to think of Davy as a kid because of his size and his innocent mind. He's _letting him stay_!"  
   The slow wide ecstatic smile that spread across the Texan's face spoke of utter relief.  
   "Oh gosh Davy that's _great news_!" Peter practically sang.  
   "I am _very_ happy to hear _THAT_ ," Mike grinned, welcome back Tiny!"  
   "Thanks fellas. I still have some strings, but just until this legal mess is settled. _Gerry_ came ovah… "  
   "What'd he have to say?"  
   Davy was quiet and distant, drifting off in a menagerie of his own thoughts.  
   "Basically it's like this," Micky answered, "He's going down for the UAD, court is in two days. Worst case scenario he could get _six months in juvie_ , but Gerry thinks he'll get eleven/twenty-nine probation."  
   "And the other?"  
   "Unless he's officially charged with the crime there's nothing to worry about. Davy never touched the knife and he didn’t even know the guy. The truth will come out and he should be fine."  
   " _Should be_? I don't like them odds shotgun."  
   "That makes _two_ of us," Davy said, despondent.  
   "Tiny we're _not_ gonna letchoo go down for sumthin you didn't do."  
   "He's right Davy, we'll get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing we do."  
   "Not much sense me gettin gobsmacked," Davy sighed, rising from the sofa, "cahn't fix anythin' worryin over wha' I cahn't control. I just wanna go to bed, you comin Micky?"  
   "Be right up babe."  
   "So," Mike said when Davy had gone, "there anything you ain't saying in _front_ of him?"  
   "Gerry said one other thing. _I_ wasn't even supposed to know, but I overheard him talking to Tony in private. There is a lot of circumstantial evidence building against Davy. The DA is waiting on a couple of things to come back from the crime lab - and he’s ready to go to the _grand jury_."  
   "Shit." Mike said, shaking his head, "I do not understand why everyone _insists_ on keeping Davy's own future a _secret_ from him. It bugs me man, it just _**isn't right**_."  
   "I know Mike, I'm ready to tell him everything myself, I just don't know how to break his heart."  
   "Not necessary," Davy said from the top of the steps.  
   "Tiny!"  
   "Dave.. I dunno what to say."  
   "Start with yer welcome," he said, descending the stairs, "you fellas are the only ones yet who've noticed that all this is ' _appening_ to **ME**."  
   "Dave I'm sure Tony _means_ well.. he just sees you -"  
   "Like a _kid_ ," Davy finished, "n I know 'es tryin to _protect_ me n all - but life in prison and the _death_ penalty are things a fella should know _may be_ in his future."  
   The looming silence was almost painful.  
   "Look guys, I know truth is supposed to make us free. I also know things have nevah _worked out_ for me in my life. Every bit of 'appy I've 'ad I've paid for in some _nahsty_ way. Nicky, you three - its all been _great_ n wot. This is gonna be my cost."  
   He went upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind him, leaving his friends feeling helpless, desperate to change his situation.  
                                                                                      *****  
   When Micky walked into their room, Davy was nowhere in sight. A quiet ear to the bathroom door told him where he'd gotten off to. He stepped into the small, steamy room and sat on the toilet's lowered lid.  
   "Dave, alright I'm in here?"  
   "Course it is."  
   Davy pulled back the shower curtain and smiled up at him from his bath.  
   "Wash me _back_?" He held up a soapy sponge.  
   Micky knelt beside the tub and gently rubbed his tanned, muscular shoulders with the sudsy loofah.  
   "You think they're gonna figure this all out Micky? I don' _wanna_ go to _**prison**_."  
   "I hope so little one. I don't think I'd look _good_ in stripes."  
   Puzzled, Davy gave a cock of his head.  
   "If they lock you away, I'll have to commit a crime and get locked up _with_ you."  
   "Don' even _joke_ li'e that!” Davy snarled, "S'too _serious_ it is. Your luck you'd wind up in the _gas_ chamber."  
   "I'm sorry, I just meant-"  
   "I know whatcha meant luv. _Loyal_ you are …"  
   He forced a smile.  
   "I gotta be honest with you Davy. You haven't been told.. everything."  
   "I figured as much. I caught most of what you and Mike said."  
   "So - you _know_?"  
   "About the D.A.? Yes, I also heard everything Gerry told you guys the other night. I wasn't eavesdropping; I'd changed my mind about something to eat n well …"  
   " _Oh_."  
   "Micky - I _don't want to **die**_! I didn't _kill_ that guy; I'm s-so.. _so_ -”  
   He broke into a hiccupping sob, his face buried in his pruny wet hands.  
   " **STOP**!" Micky shouted, "You're _not_ gonna go to prison and you're _**definitely**_ not gonna be gassed to death. One way or another, the truth is _GOING_ to come out!"  
                                                                                      *****  
   The day of the hearing arrived too quickly for everyone's nerves. Davy sat up front with Tony and Gerry by his side. Micky, Mike and Peter took seats in the row directly behind them. When his case was called, he stood before the judge with his attorney.  
   "Mr. Jones," Judge Huff stated, "you've been charged with underage drinking, how do you plead?"  
   "On behalf of my client your honor we enter a plea of no contest."  
   "Mr. Jones do you make this plea of your own free will, without coercion, intimidation _or promise_ from a third party?"  
   "Y- _yes_ your honor, I do."  
   "Very well. This court hereby accepts the plea of no contest. I see you have no prior record of any kind young man."  
   "No sir."  
   "Your honor," Gerry spoke up, "David is a fine and upstanding young citizen of good character who made a _poor_ decision. We ask for your honors wisdom and the court's mercy."  
   "Youth is a time of learning and growth, of trial and error. While we've all made foolish choices in our early adulthood, it would be a great disservice to you David if I were to simply let you walk away."  
   "Yes your honor," Davy said nervously.  
   "However, as it is your first time involved with the system, I'm going to chalk this up to youthful exuberance and lack of judgment. I sentence you to six months probation and ten hours community service. I hope you make better decisions in the future."  
   "Thank you Sir, I'll do my _best_."  
   "We thank you your honor."  
                                                                                       *****  
   "Mel when are you going to wake up and _lose_ that _**asshole**_ Dylan?"  
   "Don't start with me today Camryn my head is _pounding_."  
   "I'm gonna _pound_ it! I hate the way he talks to you. And I don't care what anybody says, I _still_ think he had something to do with Roger's murder."  
   " **Oh**! That reminds me - well.. _never mind_."  
   "You _KNOW_ I hate when you do that to me Melody!"  
   "Dyl will be pissed."  
   "Not that I'm going to repeat anything you tell me to _his_ ignorant ass **_ANYWAY_ ** but like I give _two_ shits."  
   "Alright I'll tell you but you gotta _promise_ me to keep your mouth shut!"  
   "Duh! This is _me_ Mel; we've been best friends since like the **third grade**. I mean _seriously_."  
   "Okay, right. Well you remember Dylan's new friend _Davy_ , the little English guy?"  
   "The heartbreaker that's got a thing for the drummer? How could I _forget_ , I'd give my eye teeth to try and convert **_that_** one."  
   "Well - Dyl set him up …"


	4. Chapter 4

   All things considered it was a celebratory day. Once court was over, Tony gave free reign back to Davy and Micky's relationship status. They spent the afternoon locked in their room, making up for lost time.  
   "Have I told you how _cute_ you are when you're naked?"  
   "Erm yaa, _more_ than once Micky.”  
   "Oh. Have I told you how cute you are when _I'm_ naked?"  
   "Now _tha's_ a new one," Davy grinned.  
   "So whatta you wanna do little one?" Micky waggled his eyebrows impishly.  
   "Ah the question is where do I wanna _stahrt_."  
   "Well my delicious little love muffin I-"  
   " ... 'Ow come it is yer always callin' me pet names ahfter _food_?"  
   "Because," Micky replied, moving to hover over him on hands and knees, "you _ALWAYS_ look good enough to _**eat**_!"  
   He tickled fluttery kisses down Davy's chest, stopping to flick his tongue over a hardening nipple, making him shiver in excited anticipation. He moved lower, his hot breath caressing the skin of the smooth, taut stomach, the tiny hairs standing on end.  
   Licking a swirl in his navel Micky raked his fingers roughly along Davy's slightly arching hips. The little ones fingers found their way to tangle in the masses of thick hair as Micky's lips trailed onward to his growing inferno. Watching with intense and hungry eyes, Davy gasped as a firm pink tongue shot out to lick his hardness. With teasing slowness, Micky slid from tip to stem, sucking his balls - first one and then the other - before starting anew. As the sensations drove his ardor to a pique, Davy closed his eyes. With a gentle nudge of his hand, he wordlessly begged to be taken in. With wetted lips, Micky sucked tightly on the pulsing head, drawing it slowly into his mouth.  
   " _Oh FUCK_." Davy cried out, his toes curling, fingers yanking at handfuls of hair.  
   Moaning softly in his throat, Micky swallowed the length of him, the humming vibrations reverberating along his shaft. Davy's hands found a life of their own. In a fit of desire they forced his lover's head into short, quick strokes, his cock still lodged deep in his throat. Nearing his breaking point, he fought his own will, dragging himself from the moist heat that urged him along.  
   "Not.. _yet_ ," he uttered breathlessly.  
   They switched positions, the younger man now lying prone atop his lover’s body. He kissed Micky's sticky mouth, tasting his own flavor there. Nuzzling into his neck, Davy sucked in the flesh, drawing hard as he pinched the pink peaks of the drummer’s nipples. Micky groaned, digging into firm shoulders as the suckling pleasure grew into erotic pain. Reaching between them, the little ones hand encircled the cock pressing urgently against his belly. The pleasure of Davy's stroking touch mingled with the excruciating pain of the ongoing bite nearly caused him to scream. Then suddenly it was gone, Davy's mouth having moved southward.  
   Not wasting a moment, he moved straight to his lover's dick. Lapping up the premature juices, he tickled him with soft licks to the sensitive tip. With an eagerness to match his own raging need, Davy sucked him down in long smooth strokes. Groaning with pleasure Micky gripped the bars of the headboard, his hips involuntarily pumping into that wicked hot mouth. With a final suction hard enough to make his lover wince, Davy pulled back.  
   " _Ungaa_ Davy _**PLEASE**_ -"  
   "No you _don't_ ," Davy stopped abruptly.  
   "But _WHY_ baby?”  
   " _Fuck me_ Micky." He whispered seductively.  
   The honey-gold eyes boring into his own didn't need to ask Micky twice.  
   He grabbed the lube from beside the bed and in a strong yet graceful move flipped his little one onto his knees. Generously gelling his hand he slicked himself, lining up with his coveted prize. Micky leaned his body forward, cupping himself spoon-like against his lover's back. Reaching around with his still slippery palm, he grasped the throbbing tool awaiting his touch. Stroking him slowly, he pressed his cock into the tiny chasm that waited to make him sing.  
   " _MICK-UNGHH_ " Davy groaned.  
   The sudden surge of rapturous sensations brought Davy to an instant fever pitch. He attempted to buck forward, but Micky held him fast.  
   "No-no no you're _not_ ," Micky whispered sharply, "you're _**mine**_ Davy - _take_ it little one.”  
   " _Please_ babe," Davy pleaded, "please - just ' _old_ me."  
   "I've got you - and I _won't_ let go.. _**ohhhh yaa**_."  
   He pounded into him fiercely, almost cruelly, his hand now jerking insanely on Davy's cock. His stomach rippling from the spasms Davy shouted as he came in Micky's frenzied palm.  
   "Oh _GOD I'm CUMMING_ oh **PLEASE** Micky **_STOP_**!"  
   " _NOT_ till **I'm** _THROUGH_ \- _**TAKE it**_!"  
   He drove him on mercilessly, torturing out every last drop as he climbed up his backside driving in deeper. Slamming him harder from hilt to tip he broke his will - and Davy succumbed - his squeezing spasms tilting Micky over the edge. He came hard, shooting his steamy load deep inside the tightness that gripped him like death. With a final brutal impelling force, he teased the last of his own ecstasy from his trembling body, releasing his grip on his begging lover's shaft.  
   Davy lay in tears, his slender body still convulsing with the last throes of his excruciating orgasm. His chest heaving, Micky lay behind him, his sweat-slicked skin glistening in the light of the moon.  
   "Bloody _hell_ I've missed you."  
   "It's.. I - mm - _yep_."  
                                                                                      *****  
   A heavy pounding on the front door blew the early morning quiet apart. A sleep-groggy Mike drifted out to see who it was. Looking through the peephole, sheer panic set in as he laid eyes on three uniformed police officers. Now fully awake he raked a shaky hand through his coal-black hair: The pounding began again. Dismally, he knew there was nothing else to do but open the door.  
   "Can I _help_ you officers?"  
   " _David Jones_?"  
   "Uh.. He's still asleep."  
   "Wake him up," another officer said, " _now_."  
   "What's going on Michael?" A sleepy voiced Peter asked.  
   "Call Tony right away and tell him the _police_ are here for Davy!" He whispered.  
   "Officers sirs," Mike stalled for time, "I'm afraid I'm gonna hafta ask y'all to wait _rightcheer_. Ya see I am not legally in charge of David and well his legal guardian is _on the way_ ya see. Under the British rule his guardian needs to be present for this here visit."  
   "Listen up you _long-haired smar_ -"  
   "Easy Joe," The first officer spoke again, "All he's doing is putting off the inevitable. We can wait."  
   Tony came up the walk ten minutes later with Gerry in tow.  
   "Gentleman, I am Tony Martinelli, David's guardian. This is Gerry Santini his attorney; what can we do for you?”  
   "You can bring that _punk kid_ out here -"  
   "Dammit Joe I've _got_ this!" His partner snapped.  
   "Mr. Martinelli can you bring David out to us please."  
   "I certainly will, but can you tell me what's going on?"  
   "We have a warrant for his arrest."  
   "What are the charges?" Gerry stepped up.  
   " ** _First degree murder_**."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Tony climbed the stairs with a heavy, aching heart. He stood outside the bedroom door, his hand on the knob, unable to make himself go in. Downstairs he could hear Mike attempting to console a sobbing Peter to little avail. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself for the task before him and opened the door.  
   "Davy?" He said gently shaking his young friend, "kiddo, _wake up_."  
   "Tony? What’re _you_ doin up’ere?"  
   Still undressed, he modestly pulled the covers up to his chest.  
   "What's going on?" Micky asked in surprise.  
   "Guys, Davy - I'm _so_ sorry."  
   Seeing the tears that came suddenly into his eyes, they both sat up wide-eyed.  
   "Wha' _is_ it?" Davy swallowed.  
   "Davy, the police are downstairs …"  
   " _ **What for**_?” Micky blurted.  
   "They have a warrant to arrest Davy."  
   " _ **Arrest**_ me? But _why_?"  
   "Tony what the-"  
   "Gerry is here - he’ll go along with you; I’ll be there too. I'm so _fucking_ sorry Davy."  
   "Tony what are they saying I _did_?"  
   For a moment, he couldn't say it aloud. Staring into those wide, frightened eyes he couldn't bring his lips to move - his tongue to speak. Finally hanging his head, Tony whispered the words that opened a new nightmarish chapter in Davy's life.  
   "They're charging you with _murder_."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Ten minutes later Tony came down with a somber Davy at his side. Micky, firmly attached to his little ones hand, had clearly been crying. Peter, at Mike's insistence, had finally calmed himself for Davy's benefit. Gerry waited in the doorway, providing a barrier between the law and the young man they were here to claim. Trembling in fear, Davy paused to say goodbye to his friends.  
   "Mike. I.. I don't know.. when - _if_ -"  
   "I'll see you _real soon_ Tiny, you can _count_ on that."  
   He hugged him close, stroking his chocolate locks.  
   "I'm sorry David; I'll write to you and visit whenever it's allowed. I love you."  
   "I love you too Pete."  
   He stood stock still, trying desperately to gain some control before he turned to his Micky.  
   When they faced each other, everything else melted away.  
   "Micky - I …"  
   He glanced at the waiting officers.  
   "I _**love**_ you. If this goes.. _wrong - **promise**_ me you'll go on with yer life."  
   "Its _gonna_ be okay. I don't know how, but **it will**. I _love you too_ Davy, I'll be _right here_ when you get _**home**_."  
   They kissed tenderly, and held each other as if letting go would make them explode.  
   "Enough already," the nasty officer called, "lets _go_."  
   Tony touched Davy on his arm and he turned toward the door. Without looking back, he stepped outside and faced the party waiting to apprehend him. Micky, Mike and Peter held tightly to each other, the tears falling freely as the scene unfolded in front of them.  
   " _David Thomas Jones_?"  
   "Y-yessir," he said in a small, trembling voice.  
   "You're under arrest: For the murder of Roger Perry."  
   Stepping behind him the officer cuffed his hands behind his back as Davy hung his head and cried.  
   "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say _can and will_ be held against you in a court of law."  
   "Its going to be alright kiddo," Tony called, "Gerry and I will be along right behind you."  
   They walked him to the lead patrol car, shoving him roughly into the back seat.  
   "You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot _afford_ one …"  
        Tony walked out and closed the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

   Detective Billows once again sat across from Davy with hard eyes and harder questions. This time however Davy was not alone - Tony and Gerry sat beside him - both men taking notes; this time he would not be leaving with them.  
   " ... And you arrived at the house at what time?"  
   "I'm not sure exactly, right around nine o'clock I guess."  
   "When did you begin consuming alcohol?"  
   "Well.. Dylan gave me a beer when I got there, but I.. I don't really drink. So I didn't open it right away. Maybe forty-five minutes?"  
   "How many beers did you drink in total?"  
   "One n a half."  
   "Any drugs?"  
   "My client had a _zero_ tox screen for any drugs, _**prescribed or recreational**_ , at the ER on the night of the murder," Gerry interrupted, "You needn't broach the topic any further."  
   Billows nodded curtly.  
   Approximately what time would you say the fight you allege took place in _front_ of you broke out?"  
   "I'm not really sure. It was quite a while ahfter I got there.. maybe one-thirty, two."  
   "That's a pretty broad window; you never bothered to look at a clock?"  
   "I would 'ave, but there wasn't one."  
   "Check your watch?"  
   "Detective Billows I _told_ you, I left my watch at 'ome."  
   "What did Roger Perry confront you about that night?"  
   "Nothing, I never spoke to him. I didn't _know_ him - I didn't even know his _name_!"  
   "Was it your knife David?"  
   "I don' own a knife."  
   "Borrowed? Stolen?"  
   "Detective 'ow do I get you to understand - I _didn't_ touch the knife - I didn't _stab_ the guy!"  
   "Never saw the knife before?"  
   " _No_ sir!"  
   "Never had it in your hands?"  
   "No!"  
   "You're a **liar**!"  
   " _ **Detective**_ -"  
   "Counselor your client’s prints came back very clear on the handle of the murder weapon."  
   "I'd like to confer with my client."  
   "Sure," the detective rose from his seat, "You may want to convince him to tell me the truth - If he doesn't fess up, we're asking for the _death penalty_."  
        He left the small room with three mouths hanging open behind him.  
                                                                                     *  
   "Hey Peter, why so glum?"  
   "Hi Camryn. Just thinking about someone I really miss."  
   "Aww, cheer up big guy, you'll see them again soon, I'm sure. Wanna go get an ice cream cone? My treat."  
   "No thank you. I'm not really in the mood for ice cream."  
   "Wow Peter, you really _are_ down. Wanna talk about it?"  
   "I can't Camryn; Mike says I shouldn't tell _anyone_ about Davy."  
   "Davy? Isn't that your little English friend?"  
   "Yes. Well he _was_."  
   "Was? Are you not friends anymore?"  
   "Well, sort of, but I'm probably never gonna see him again."  
   "Peter is he okay? He isn't.. _hurt_ or something, is he?"  
   "No, not yet. Hopefully they won't do that and I can see him every Sunday. I should probably go; Davy's lawyer will be back soon. I don't wanna miss hearing anything important. Bye Camryn."  
   "Bye Peter."  
   Camryn fumbled in her bag for her cell.  
   "Hello?"  
   "Mel its Cam, can you meet me at Mondo Burger at eleven thirty?"  
   "Yaa sure, what's up?"  
   "We need to talk.. they _arrested_ that Davy guy."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Micky lay in their bed, holding tightly to Davy's pillow, breathing in traces of his scent that lingered there. It smelled of sea salt and his own natural sweet-woodsy musk. He wasn't crying - he had shed every tear his swollen eyes could muster that morning. A deep empty longing filled him, as well as fear for Davy's future. He wouldn't eat, couldn't sleep and simply wanted to be alone. When Tony called him from below insisting he come down for a family conference, he reluctantly dragged himself downstairs toting Davy's pillow with him.  
   "Okay guys I know nobody is in the mood for this, but I have some information that may take this in a different direction. We can all do our little parts to further things along so please, listen up and try to focus. _Micky_ , you with me?"  
   "Yaa," he said non-committally.  
   "Alright. As Davy's guardian, I was permitted to sit in along with Gerry, during the interrogation. I had to keep my mouth shut - which was _VERY_ hard at times - but Gerry and I both took notes."  
   "Is Tiny okay? Are they gonna let him _bond out_ at all?"  
   "He is understandably very shaken, and afraid of his surroundings Mike. When we left him however, he didn’t cry or break down in any way. Bond will be set, _if_ he gets one, when he sees the judge on Monday."  
   "So what's the info.. and how can _we_ help?"  
   "Micky! So _glad_ you've found your voice mi amici! We've made several important determinations about the murder that make it practically impossible for Davy to have been the perpetrator. With the height of the victim as well as the location and angle of the stab wound, Davy would about have to stand on a chair to reach - a _cinder block_ at the very least."  
   "Why don't they just go by fingerprints?"  
   "Unfortunately Peter, they _are_. The lab report came back conclusively - Davy's prints - an _impressively clean set_ \- were on the handle of the knife."  
   " **HOW**?” Micky interrupted, "That's _not possible_!"  
   "It is Micky, if someone pressed his unconscious hand around the freshly wiped weapon. The position of his prints would have him stabbing in an upward direction for the serrated edge of the blade to go in the way that it did but the direction of the stab wound went in a _downward_ path. Davy is too short for that - the murdered man stood six foot five - so we know that he couldn't have done this even if we _thought_ he was capable."  
   "That sounds like Gerry's territory."  
   "It is, and among other discrepancies that is something he is working into his defense. What he wants us to do is scour the beach for _anyone_ who is willing to come forward or give up any information; anyone who was at that party who will stand up and say that Davy _didn’t do this_.”  
   "How can we do that with _**Dylan Roberts**_ nosing around all the time? He's been telling everyone Davy is the murderer.. most people are _afraid_ to cross him."  
   "Keep your ears open; talk to the women. Do _NOT_ put yourselves in harms way! It's absolutely **_crucial_** to Davy's case that someone who knows what _REALLY_ happened comes forward."  
   "What if nobody does?" Micky asked, "Can Gerry still get him out of this?"  
   Tony looked at the table, defeat in his eyes.  
   "Without someone revealing the truth, the best he can probably do is _save his life_."  
                                                                                      *****  
   " **Melody** ," Camryn called from the corner booth, "Mel, over _here_."  
   The slender, green-eyed brunette made her way through the crowded dining room of the Mondo Burger cafe to where her friend waited.  
   "Damn girl. I was about to come looking for you. Where you _been_?"  
   "I'm sorry Cam, Dylan got pissed that I was going out and we had a big fight. He took my phone and hid my purse. I had to wait for him to pass out to get ‘em back."  
   "So help me Melody if you go _back_ there to him I'm going to-"  
   "I'm **not** okay. I got all my clothes and shit and I.. it’s just that he emptied my wallet. I can't even get a _room_ Camryn."  
   "You can stay with me and Rico."  
   "You sure he won't mind?"  
   " _Hell_ with him if he does, it's **my** apartment! He won't though; besides he's almost _never_ there."  
   "Thanks."  
   "You hungry?"  
   "Naw - I had Chinese last night, can't eat for a week after it seems. So what'd you hear about Davy?"  
   "I saw Peter on the beach this morning down by the breakers; he looked really blue, even for _him_. I asked him what was wrong and he wouldn't say - insisted he _couldn't talk_ about it."  
   "Poor guy, he's so sweet and sensitive."  
   "Yaa and as _queer_ as a three dollar bill. Anyway, I wheedled a little and he let it slip that Davy might be ' _hurt_ ' soon but if he was lucky Peter could still _write_ him and see him on _visiting days_."  
   "I don't get what you mean"  
   "God Mel you've been inhaling too many _pot fumes_ \- he's in jail for Roger's murder - _probably_ facing a death sentence."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Davy went through the humiliating intake process as bravely as possible. After being booked, photographed and fingerprinted, he was made to empty his pockets and strip in front of the mocking eyes of the guards. Led to the open showers, he bathed quickly under the cold, sparse spray, dressing in the blue jumpsuit and flip-flops of the county lockup.  
Back in shackles and carrying his bed linens, two guards escorted him to a small elevator. On the third floor, they were issued through the first of two sets of electronic doors. At the substation, he awaited his cell assignment.  
   "Inmate name and number?"  
   " _Jones, David T. - M176360_."  
   "Module 3500, Cell 12 Bed A. Sign here."  
   Quickly scrawling his signature the younger of the two men gave Davy a forward shove.  
   "Let's move _pretty boy_."  
   Stumbling ahead as fast as the shackles would allow, Davy walked down the corridor in silence. Panicked inside, he knew these would be his last free moments outside of a small, locked room. They stopped in front of one of the gray steel doors, an ominous feeling of permanency hanging in the air. The guard radioed the substation and a faint buzz-click could be heard inside the locks electronic mechanism. Swinging the door wide, the older man gestured for Davy to step inside. With wide frightened eyes, he did as instructed, turning to face the door.  
   "Your bed is by the sink Jones, put your shit down and turn around: Now put your forehead against the wall and both hands behind your head fingers laced together."  
   Once in this position, the younger guard pressed his hand firmly against Davy's back pinning him to the wall, while the other guard reached down and removed the shackles from his ankles. Without another word to him, they left him in the tiny room and closed the door. A moment later, the lock clicked shut. Davy leaned against the wall behind him and slid to the floor. Hugging himself, he finally opened the dam, and cried from the pits of his soul.


	6. Chapter 6

   "Screw the bitch, who _needs_ her."  
   Dylan was drunk and rolling his third joint.  
   "Friggin eh dude, women are only good for two things: Grabbin me a brew and _suckin my_ -"  
   "Dylan," Ben burst through the door, "Dude you're **NEV** \- Chaz! Man _what the hell_?"  
   "Rocket," Dylan said evenly, "bustin through my front door _unannounced_ is a good way to get your dumb ass _fucking SHOT_!"  
   "I'm sorry man," he swallowed, staring down the barrel of the 38, "just got some word was all."  
   "What," Dylan smiled, still brandishing the weapon, "exactly would be good enough news to bring you in here like you _own_ the damn place?"  
   "Fuck Dylan can you stop _pointing_ that shit at me?"  
   The two men eyed each other briefly, and Dylan lowered the gun.  
   "So dish," he returned to his rolling tray.  
   "What the hell is _he_ doing here?"  
   "Getting fucking high with me."  
   "Do you _REALLY_ think he should be hanging around here so soon after-"  
   "Do you _**WANT**_ me to pick up my steel again Ben? It's not your _friggin business_. Now say what you came to say or get the hell out, you’re fucking up my serenity."  
   "They arrested the Brit, yesterday. _Capital murder_ ; he's at Lost Hills lockup."  
   "It's about time." he smiled, "Now you can leave."  
   " _Leave_? I thought we-"  
   " _GET THE FUCK OUT BEN_!" Dylan screamed.  
   Glancing at Chaz, he turned and silently walked out the door.  
   "He's too nervous for my taste man," Chaz said, propping his feet on the coffee table, "he gets a righteous bug up his ass he's gonna sing like a _diva_."  
   "He's _your_ fucking cousin," Dylan smiled, lighting the joint, "get rid of _him_ too."  
                                                                                      *****  
   "Okay," Mike clarified, "everybody understands the plan then? _Peter_?"  
   "Michael, why is it always _me_ that you guys think isn't gonna get it?" Peter pouted.  
   "No offense meant Cotton - but your head is - pretty _full_ , shotgun."  
   "Oh. Well I know what to do so there must've been _room_ for this one."  
   "Good to hear little buddy."  
   "So," Micky said, some enthusiasm finally in his voice, "you guys ready for our big acting debut?"  
   "Ok then," Mike nodded, "to the beach."  
   Out on the sand they played their finest performance. Mingling with the crowd on the late winter’s morning, they each targeted a specific group of people: Mike took the geeky types, the technos, the poets, the hustlers and intellects. Micky latched on to the slackers, the jokers and clowns - the lives of the parties. Peter - earthy, melancholy Peter - he took on the rest, the lovers, the dreamers and the softhearted girls. The game was on, the scene was set - they would play Dylan's game, dealing their own hands face down. When the bets were all in, they would pull all four aces from their own sleeves.  
                                                                                      *****  
   Tony paced the lobby of the busy airport, wondering for the hundredth time if he had made a mistake. The decision was made after much internal debate, his heart winning out over the logic his head kept presenting.  
          ( _Real_ smart: Last time you listened to your heart, you **kidnapped** a _British runaway_ )  
   Before he was able to extrapolate further, the flights arrival was announced on the PA system. He went to the gate and watched as the mass of travelers passed into the terminal. A spark of warm delight lit in his stomach as Nicky stepped in and spotted his grinning face.  
   "Ciao! Il mio amore prezioso how I've _missed_ you!" He drew him into a loving embrace, momentarily forgetting the reason for his coming home.  
   "Ah, _je vous ai manqué_ aussi mon cher Tony!"  
   " ** _French_**?" Tony smiled in surprise.  
   "Yes, just a little. One of my professors was born in Nice."  
   His brow furrowed.  
   "Tell me, how is _Davy_?"  
   "I haven't seen him since yesterday. He’s really scared Nicky."  
   "When can we see him, do you know?"  
   "There are visiting hours Sunday, we'll all go up then. Do you have luggage?"  
   "Just this, I carried on with me."  
   "I raised you _well_ ," he grinned, "Come on; let’s see if we can't beat the morning rush."  
                                                                                      *****  
  Davy woke before the sun with the other prisoners to the wailing of the morning bell. The loud beeping siren startled him, as nothing about his new environment had yet been explained. A loud screeching rang in his ears as the early shift guard fired up the PA.  
   "Cell check in _five_ gentlemen."  
   He washed his face, used the commode and sat back down on the side of his cot. A loud buzzer resonated through the cellblock releasing the catch on all of the doors. Heavy-heeled footsteps clicked along the floor as four uniformed officers walked in sync to the end of the hallway. Davy waited listening for their approach to his tiny room. As they came to stop in front of his cell, the senior guard called out.  
   "Cell twelve _assume the position_."  
   " ... I'm new 'ere, please, I dunno what that means."  
   "On your knees, forehead against the wall - fingers laced together behind your head."  
   Davy complied immediately, his heart beating madly. Two men entered the room and looked around briefly.  
   "Why is this bunk _not_ made?" A deep voice gruffly barked.  
   "I - I didn't n-know I was supposed to-"  
   "He came in last night," the other man said.  
   "Can't read your _handbook_?" The harsher man snarled.  
   "I never _got_ any book, I-"  
       _**THWACK**_  
   A hard blow hit him below his backside, a nightstick connecting with his thighs.  
   "Get it _made_ \- and see the station guard for a handbook - _before_ you're back from breakfast!"  
   He sensed their retreat but held his position until he heard them in the next cell. As in his days with Robyn, he ignored the blazing pain in his legs and set about making his minimal bed. He wanted to cry, but forced himself to remain distanced from his emotions. Any sign of weakness, he knew, would make him an easy target.  
   Another bell sounded announcing breakfast. Inmates milled into the hall, single file, standing on a thickly painted yellow line. Lingering behind, Davy waited, taking the last place in line. Armed guards escorted them to the module's dining area, a large and dingy cafeteria-style setting with mis-matched dilapidated tables and chairs. Davy stepped up to the tiny window and received his paltry breakfast: A cold biscuit and something that resembles scrambled eggs. Scanning the room, he found a lone table and sat by himself in the corner.  
   The food looked awful, but he was famished; cold and tasteless with a tiny carton of milk, it would have to do. As he picked up his fork, a long shadow fell across the table. Looking up he was met by a large, looming man with a terrible scar on his right cheek.  
   "I'm _wantin_ that shit."  
   Davy opened his mouth to object, reasoning that this was indeed _HIS_ meal, but logic stepped in. He leaned against the back of his chair, hands in his lap.  
   "Why not," he mumbled.  
   His stomach complained noisily as he watched his breakfast walk away.  
   "Shouldn't have done that."  
   He turned to see a very slim, nervous-looking man a few years his senior, smirking at him from the next table.  
   "As opposed to _what_?"  
   "Take it from me, one good _ass-kicking_ is worth all the meals they now **_KNOW_** they can slide out from under you. You're gonna get _hungry_ , fast. Name's Neal."  
   "David. D'you mean this 'appens a _lot_?"  
   "Hope you didn't bring your stomach with you. Tell ya something’ else. You're just a little too _pretty-boy_ to be in here my friend. Keep your back against the wall."  
   "Yer _'aving me on_!"  
   "Don't drop the soap. What's your address?"  
   "Huh?"  
   "Where'd they stash you in here?"  
   "Module 3500 cell twelve A."  
   "Well howdy neighbor. _Fourteen B_. You on time or waiting bail?"  
   "I 'ave to see the judge Monday morning."  
   " _Ohhh_ \- _**Monday**_. You went _big time_ eh, what'd you do?"  
   "I showed up at the wrong pahrty."  
   "Drug bust?"  
   "No.. someone was.. was _m-murdered_. They're blaming **me**."  
   " _Ouch_. You gotta mouthpiece?"  
   "Do _what_?"  
   "Have you got a lawyer, _jeez_."  
   "Yaa, my guardian put his attorney on it fer me."  
   " ... You didn't do it, _didja._ " Neal said matter-of-factly.  
   "No, but 'ow did you **_know_** that?"  
   "Dude you're just not the type. Not even the ‘lose your temper’ _accidental_ killer type. Plus you're too green."  
   "Neal, you should'a been a _cop_."  
   Another piercing beeping rang through the building.  
   "That's time," Neal said, "you got a work assignment yet?"  
   "No, not yet. Say who do I talk to about getting a handbook? I got reamed this morning fer bein' _ignorant_."  
   "Hang back to get at the end of the line. When you get to the substation ask Barnes for one."  
   "I will, thanks."  
   "Lunch is at eleven. I suggest you _fight_ for it."  
   Davy sighed inwardly, knowing his new acquaintance was right. As hungry as he was, he was _not_ looking forward to lunchtime.  
                                                                                      *****  
   Saturday found the trio of musicians back on beach patrol, this time accompanied by Tony and Nicky. For tactical purposes, Tony paired up with Mike and Nicky hung around with Peter. Much of the morning passed uneventfully and without much success. Tony suggested they break for lunch, and Micky, he and Mike went in search of the others. When they couldn't be found, Mike recommended checking the house. Back at the pad they were all surprised to find Nicky and Peter entertaining two young women. Nicky made brief introductions then pulled Tony aside for a chat.  
   "Listen, you have to get Gerry up here _**NOW**_! These girls this close to spilling their guts," he gestured with his finger and thumb, "they _definitely_ know something about what happened with Davy the night of the party."  
   "How do you know that?"  
   "We were down on the beach by the breakers. The blond came over to Peter and started asking him about Davy. Per the plan he busted out crying, telling her he was facing the gas chamber."  
   Nicky's voice quivered at this last statement.  
   "Okay, go on," Tony urged gently.  
   "The other girl, the brunette, is Melody Reeves - _Dylan Roberts’ girlfriend_ \- _**ex**_ girlfriend now. She came over and Camryn - the blond - told her what Peter had said. They whispered together for a sec and I overheard them - _Dylan set him up_."  
   "Go and call Gerry on his cell tell him **_I_ ** said it's **urgent**. Tell him _everything_ you just told me Nicky. I'll make some lunch and stall our lovely guests."  
   Tony prepared a quick pasta salad while Mike whipped up some sandwiches. Micky and Peter kept the girls busy singing for them with Peter playing his guitar. Gerry arrived in casual clothes and everyone sat down to lunch, a cold lemonade and a vintage Merlot washing down the light meal.  
   "Tell me ladies," Tony carefully plied, "do either of you have family close by?"  
   "My family lives in Seattle,” Camryn said, drinking her wine, “Mel and I grew up there together.”  
   "Must be hard being so far away."  
   "Sometimes it is. Holidays, birthdays - I haven't been home in over a _year_."  
   "Melody is your family in Washington also?"  
   "No. I - my parents were killed in a wreck when I was eleven. I don't have _any other_ family; Cam's parents took me in."  
   "I'm terribly sorry."  
   Finding an opening, Nicky took his chance.  
   "Davy and I lost our parents to a drunk driver twelve years ago December. It's one of the _hardest_ things to understand and survive. I'm _so_ sorry Melody."  
   "Davy is your **_brother_**?" Camryn asked in surprise.  
   "Yes. We've been separated all these years, both of us thinking the other had **_died_** in the crash. We found each other again just _four months back_ , and now …” he trailed off, his head lowered with emotion.  
Melody stared at the heartsick young man. Her lower lip trembled as she struggled over the decision in her mind.  
   "Family is _very_ important to Nicky," Tony spoke up, his eyes boring into the women's souls, "to all of us here in this house. Davy is _everything_ to each of us in one way or another."  
   The women exchanged uncomfortable glances, neither able to break the guilty spell their host was casting upon them.  
   "Camryn," Peter said softly, "we're friends. There's something on your heart, I _know_ it.“  
   "You guys," Micky's voice cracked, "Davy is my _whole world_. I love him more than my own **life** ," he told the girls.  
   "We know he didn't kill that guy and **_somebody_** knows the **truth**."  
   "They're gone go n **_gas_** this tiny, caring, funny lil dynamo to **death** ," Mike said, "and the only theng he's guilty of is wanting to make some new friends, to be _accepted_."  
   Nicky, now with free flowing tears raised his head.  
   "Please. Melody, Camryn - I _know_ you two know the truth about what happened that night. Gerry here is Davy’s attorney and a family friend. _Talk to him_. Tell him what you know - **_PLEASE_** \- d-don't let my baby brother die for s-something he _didn’t do_ , I _**can't l-lose him a-again**_!"  
       Bursting into sobs, he threw himself into Tony's comforting arms.  
   The group sat silently pleading with their hearts and eyes. A drawn quiet settled over the room, thick enough to cut with a knife. With a heavy, breathy sigh, Camryn turned to her lifelong friend.  
   "It's your call Mel; I'm with you _either_ way."  
   Melody smiled wistfully, gazing pitifully on Nicky's sad form. She turned to Camryn, and shaking her head she spoke resolutely.  
   "Well, _**everybody**_ needs a family, _right_?"


	7. Chapter 7

   Davy was brought before the taskmaster to be evaluated and assigned work. Upon completion of an intake physical, he would begin his duties in the jail's laundry facility that afternoon. Stripped to his underwear he stood before the nurse practitioner and submitted to the probing examination.  
   "How did you get the bruises on the back of your thighs?" He asked.  
   " _Bruises_?" Davy played dumb, "Not _sure_ really."  
   "Your choice. We don't tolerate brutality in this institution Jones, if you're being mistreated you need to speak up."  
   Not interested in making enemies of the guards, Davy shook his head.  
   "Suit yourself. You can get dressed. I'm marking you one A, you'll start work on Monday."  
   "But I was told-"  
   " _Monday_. Those bruises will heal a bit by then."  
   "Yes sir. _Thank_ you."  
   Back in his cell, he studied the handbook waiting for lunch to roll around; with little else to do, he was able to read most of the rules and the very few rights in a brief time. Hungry as he was, the prospect of having to defend his chow was not appealing in the least - he was a lover, not a fighter - and most of his fellow inmates were hardened and violent men.  
  The lunch bell finally rang and he fell into line behind the others. The ritual trip to the dining hall, complete with escort, replaying itself as it had six hours before. He picked up his tray and took his place in the corner. To his left Neal was eating his lunch. Without looking up, he spoke.  
   "Here comes trouble, you have a _plan_?"  
   "Sure do, wish me luck."  
   "Break a leg."  
   " _His or mine_?"  
   "Whatever wor-"  
   "I want your lunch."  
   The hulking figure stood to his right, demanding and smelly, and twice his size.  
   "I'm sorry to hear that," Davy said in a squeakier voice than he'd hoped for.  
   "I don't think you heard me boy, gimme dat _tray_ , **_now_**."  
   Davy stood up and cleared his throat.  
   "Listen up muscles: You _ate_ me breakfast, yer **_not_** gettin me lunch."  
   Most of the inmates were watching the scene unfold. The little newcomer barely reached to the chest of his towering adversary. Yet digging his heels in, he glared up mightily and stood his ground.  
   "Im'a give you to the count’a _five_ to set yo ass down and give up dat tray. Then I'm gonna **_SHOW_** you who’s da boss round here. _ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR_ -"  
   It was now or never. With all of his might, Davy kicked out with lightning speed, nailing Goliath between his legs. He doubled over clutching his balls, bringing his face to Davy's level. As swift as he could Davy reared back and smashed his forehead into the groaning man's mouth. Blood splattered in every direction as the perfect Manchester Kiss obliterated the bully's lower lip. He dropped to his knees, tears pouring from his eyes. Davy grabbed hold of his greasy mop of hair and drew back his fist.  
   "Yer **done** stealing food _understand_? From me or _**anyone else!**_ "  
   His doubled right fist cracked into the other man's eye, knocking him to the floor.  
Davy turned to take his seat. An alarm was sounding, calling the guards to the room. Neal stood and placed a hand on his shoulder.  
   "Trust me dude, this is for your _own good_."  
   Without warning, he punched Davy square in the mouth knocking him into his chair.  
   "What the-"  
   "If **_ANYONE_** asks - he hit _you_ first - else you'll wind up in solitary!"  
   Davy nodded, his head still reeling, adrenaline filling his veins. He picked up his sandwich and started to eat.  
   "Getting into trouble _already_ Jones?"  
   "Just defending meself," he lied.  
   "Brooks hit him first," Neal spoke up.  
   Having lost a meal themselves, many of the others eagerly agreed.  
   The guard eyed Davy, noting his size.  
   "You better keep your nose _clean_ boy."  
   He turned to the weepy, bleeding man on the floor.  
   "As for you Brooks, this is your _last_ hooraw. You’ve been warned, you’re going to _ **E**_ block, get your ass up."  
   Two of the guards escorted the foul, bulky prisoner from the room to a round of roaring applause.  
   "You _fucking **hit**_ me!" Davy turned to Neal.  
   "The _guards_ bought it. Sorry."  
   "Thanks man," Davy grinned.  
   "Thank me later, you got about _five minutes_ to eat your lunch."  
                                                        *  
   "I am **_not_** liking this," Mike said, pacing the floor.  
   "Michael its gonna be fine."  
   "Cotton I gotta _bad feelin_ bout you doin this."  
   "I _can_ do stuff without messing up you know."  
   "That's not what I'm worried about babe. These people had a man **killed** and _framed Davy_ for the murder! I ain't too keen on the idear of you bein mixed up in all this."  
   "It's just Rocket Mike. I've known him almost as long as I've known you."  
   "Maybe so shotgun. But _I'm_ not a gun toting, drug dealin', cousin killing, back stabbing _murderer_!"  
   "You're a _good_ kisser though Michael."  
   Mike rolled his eyes in exasperation.  
   "Look Mr. Nesmith," Detective Clancey looked up, "Peter wearing this wire is the only chance we have of getting one of the parties involved to openly admit to framing Mr. Jones. We'll be monitoring the situation from a hundred yards away with a full team of armed policeman ready to move in should things take a wrong turn."  
   "Tell me detective, how long does it take for a fast man to run a hundred yards, break down a door and _tackle_ the bad guy?"  
   "I don’t know _exactly;_ roughly sixty seconds I'd say."  
   "And how long does it take to pull a gun out of your pocket, take aim and pull the trigger?"  
   " ... Maybe twelve, _fifteen_ seconds."  
   "I _rest my case_.'  
   "Michael," Peter said, touching him softly on the arm, "You're our leader. You are always making important decisions and giving advice. You and Micky both come to Davy’s rescue _and mine_ all the time. Davy - well everyone thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread - and he _really_ is. Me though, I’m always getting in the way or causing a problem. I _never_ do anything helpful or brave - I _really_ wanna do this for Davy. For **_all_** of us."  
   Mike smiled a weary smile.  
   "Peter, your sunny optimism and perpetual smile holds more bravery than the _rest_ of us put together. I'm still gonna worry shotgun, but if you _hafta_ do this.. I won't stand in your way."  
   "I love you Michael, thank you."  
   "I love you too babe."  
   "Ok Peter," Clancey said, "You're all set."  
   "Go get'um Big Pete."  
   "Thanks Micky."  
   "Good luck Peter."  
   "Thank you Tony."  
   "Peter?"  
   "Yaa Nicky?"  
   "I understand why Davy looks up to you, _truly_."  
   "James," Tony said to the detective, "take good care of my boy here."  
   "No worries my friend, he's in good hands."  
  
   Peter made his way to Rocket's place and knocked on the door.  
   "Sup man," his old pal greeted, "c'mon in."  
   "Not much man, you know anything?"  
   "Got some prime Columbian."  
   "Naw, it makes me hiccup. Anything else?"  
   "Got some Christmas tree left with the red and green threads."  
   "That sounds great. You have a dime?"  
   "Always man. You in a hurry or ya got time to match one?"  
   "We can burn a couple."  
   "You wanna brew?"  
   "It's _t **en o'clock in the morning**_ man! Do you have a _coke_ or something?"  
   "Sure Pete."  
   Ben returned with a coke and Peter's weed.  
   "Still twenty right?" Peter handed over the cash.  
   "Inflation hasn't hit me yet my man. Here," he handed him the tray, "twist up, mine is ready."  
   "Didja hear about my roommate?" Peter asked casually, expertly rolling a joint.  
   " ... No, don't think I have."  
   "Oh. Can you keep it between us man?"  
   "Sure Pete, we're _friends_ , right?"  
   " _I_ thought so." Peter smiled.  
   "So, what happened?" Ben swallowed nervously.  
   "He was _arrested_ , for **_killing_** that Roger guy."  
   "Really?"  
   "Yes. But the cops got a tip; they _know_ he was framed."  
   "Framed? They uh.. have any _leads_?"  
   "Sure do man. Got a light?"  
   "Yaa, here. So what's their next move?"  
   "They're planning to hit up the people who did it to see if one will turn states evidence for immunity. I hear they're going for the _death_ penalty."  
   " _Really,_ that’s uh.. heavy. Listen Peter I just remembered some place I'm supposed to be. Take this j man on me man, I _hafta_ run."  
   "Oh, ok man. I'll see you around Rocket."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Davy took his bloody, fat lip with a measure of pride. The entire jail was buzzing about ' _David and Goliath_ ', -bragging on the little guy that whooped ass on Vernon Brooks. The crummy lunch of pb&j was all the more a gourmet meal knowing it was so hard-won. His sweet victory however was rather short lived: Called to the psychiatrist’s office for a routine psych eval he was met in the atrium by _Devin_ Brooks - _and_ his cronies.  
   "Lookie what we have here fellas, it’s the mighty munchkin."  
   Davy froze in his tracks. He could hold his own; but not when it was three against one.  
   "You fucked with the _wrong guy_ you limey punk, **_nobody_** messes with my family."  
   The other two men grabbed Davy's arms, holding him fast while Devin dealt him a severe beating. He lay on the tiled floor, bleeding and curled in a ball.  
   "Don't forget," Devin threatened, "snitches get _double_."  
   He delivered a final and brutal kick to Davy's back, and the three assailants ran away.  
   Too weak and dizzy to stand, Davy groaned, remaining on the cold linoleum. His vision blurred as his eyelids began to swell from the cruel blows. He made a vain attempt to get to his knees, but the world tilted - sending him back to the floor. The metallic taste of his own blood gagged him, and he nearly wretched as it trickled down his throat. He lifted his head once more in a futile attempt to find some help. A spray of stars swam before him as a heady, floating sensation settled on his brain. He dropped his head on his arm, exhaling a defeated breath. Finally giving up the fight, for Davy the world went black.  
                                                                                      *****  
   Peter's safe return to the beach house made for one ecstatic Texan. Though Rocket made no confessions on the wired recording, the bee was placed in his bonnet: If he didn't turn himself over, the taped drug deal was enough to bring him in.  
   "Way to go _Pete_ ," Micky grinned, giving a gentle punch to his shoulder, "you _really_ came through for Davy my man!"  
   "Ya did good Cotton," Mike smiled proudly, "but I'm so _glad_ your home safe with me."  
   "Nothin to it,” Peter beamed proudly, “I'd do anything to help poor Davy."  
   "If this guy sings like we're hoping he will Davy should be released before you know it. The statements from Camryn and Melody will help seal it."  
   "I hope you're right Tony," Nicky sighed, "there's nothing more that I want right now. I can't imagine _how scared_ he must be."  
   "Whoops that’s me," Tony said, grabbing his phone.  
   "Hello? _Yes_.. **WHAT**?! _Dear God._ I'm on my way."  
   "What's going on?" Micky asked.  
   "That was the jail's infirmary."  
   "Oh God Tony what happened?"  
   "Sit down Nicky."  
   Nicky paled taking a seat, knowing it must be bad news.  
   "Davy is being transported to St. Johns."  
   "Why?"  
   "What happened?"  
   "Oh my _God_."  
   "All they would tell me is that he's unconscious."  
   "I'm coming with you."  
   "Mio piccolo amore, they won't let you _see_ him. Only as his guardian am I able to be there Nicky."  
   "Are you saying you won't let me come?"  
   Tony smiled at the young man's tenacity.  
   "Of course you can come, just making sure you understand."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Benjamin 'Rocket' Worthington paced the sidewalk outside of Von's market. His meeting with Dylan was hardly friendly, ending on less than promising terms. It was obvious that Chaz would be filling his shoes in Dylan's schemes, the implied threats to Rocket's life tipping the scales in his mind, he picked up the phone. As Detective Billows SUV pulled to a stop in front of him, the two men sized each other up.  
   " _Worthington_?"  
   "You _Billows_?"  
   "Let's take a ride son."  
   They drove to a nearby coffee shop and sat in a corner booth away from the other patrons. Billows ordered coffee and pie; the younger man a coke and fries. Producing a pocket sized tape recorder, the detective got right down to business. He pressed record and sat the device between them.  
   "Mr. Worthington I'll be recording our conversation with your permission."  
   Ben nodded.  
   "Son the recorder doesn't _pick up_ a nod," he smiled.  
   "Sorry. That's fine."  
   "Benjamin Worthington Interview, Saturday twenty-four January, two o’clock pm.”  
   Billows paused as the waitress returned with their order.  
   "You _are_ Benjamin Worthington?"  
   "Yes, Ben for short.. _Rocket_ to my friends."  
   "You were cousins to the late Roger Perry, recently killed?"  
   "Yaa, he's - he _was_ \- my Uncle Jack's kid."  
   "I received a phone call from you earlier today requesting a meeting in regards to his murder, _correct_?"  
   "Yes."  
   "What is it you wish to tell me?"  
   "I.. I wanna make a deal."  
   "May be something I can do. Depends on what you've got for me."  
   "I got _nothin_ if you can't guarantee me immunity."  
   Billows washed down a bite of cherry pie with hellishly strong coffee, considering his options.  
   "You take him out Rocket?"  
   "No. I was involved in the _planning_."  
   "You give me everyone that was involved and I'll _guarantee_ you no more than _**felony**_ probation."  
   "What about protection? The people that axed Roger are _not_ gonna be happy with me."  
   "We already have testimony against.. someone. If your story corroborates it, the responsible parties will be behind bars, _without_ bond I assure you."  
   Rocket sipped his drink, weighing his decision.  
   "Ben a very young man sits behind bars accused of a crime that could cost him his **life**. Now the evidence points against him, but I believe you _know_ otherwise. You want a _second_ death on your conscience?"  
   " _ **That**_ fucking sucks."  
   "Sure. So does everything _he and his family_ are going through."  
   They sat in silence; gazes locked in a battle of wit and will.  
   "No jail time?"  
   "Long enough to be booked and released on OR."  
   "Fuck it. _I'm in_."  
   "You're making the right decision. Let's move this down to the station."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Micky tagged along with Tony and Nicky to the ICU of St John's Hospital. After meeting with the doctor on call, to everyone’s surprise they were led _together_ to Davy’s room.  
   "Normally we don't allow visitors to inmate rooms," the nurse advised, "but when the patient is _this_ critical.. well, exceptions are made."  
   "Mick amici, _please_ \- wait here with Nicky -"  
   " **I WANT TO SEE HIM**!" Nicky objected.  
   "And you **will**!” Tony stated firmly, "I'm going in there _**ALONE**_ first. When I've seen how.. _serious_ it is, I'll prepare you _**both**_ to go inside."  
   He gently stroked the youthful cheek with tender, reassuring fingers.  
   " **Please** Nicky, _wait here_."  
   He stepped into the room and closed the door. The sight that met his eyes struck him like a fist in the gut and he nearly doubled from the shock. Looking frail and darkened with colorful bruises, the man in the bed was barely familiar. Davy's face was swollen, his cheeks a misshapen purple mound of lacerated flesh. Two IV bags dripped clear fluids into his arm; a ventilator tube disappeared into his mouth through bruised and bluish lips. Naked from the waist up, a large bandage could be seen wound around his ribcage, another covering the top of his head. His left arm, in a sling, was secured across his chest.  
   "Oh _God_ kiddo," Tony whispered as he drew near to his diminutive friend, "Davy _please_ \- _**please**_ come back.”  
   Back in the hallway, he spoke to his waiting friends.  
   "It's bad. I want you _both_ to know this. He looks like he - it doesn't look _**good**_ at all."  
   He described gently but truthfully the horror they were about to encounter. Pale and shaky, they walked through the cursed door to the sad figure lost in a fog beyond it. Tony held Nicky by the arm, steadying him as he entered the room. Gasping, Micky rushed ahead of them, calling out his lover's name.  
   "Oh _no_ , _**DAVY**_!" He cried, clutching his little ones hand.  
   " **MICKY**!" Tony shouted from behind him.  
   He turned to see Nicky slumped, having fainted into Tony's arms.  
   " _Oh hell_!"  
   Quick on his feet he was beside him at once, helping to deposit the limp young man in a nearby chair.  
   "You stay with Nicky," Micky said, "I'll get a nurse!"  
   Micky returned straightaway, with Florence Nightingale in tow. A quick wave of ammonium chloride under his nose brought Nicky back to the land of the alert.  
   "A cold wet rag on the back of his neck should help," the nurse advised, "Keep him off his feet for a bit."  
   "You okay there kiddo?" Tony asked, "You _checked out_ on me for a minute."  
   "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little headache. Would you, help me?"  
   "Help you with what?"  
   "Get over there by Davy."  
   "You _shouldn't_ be up and walking just yet."  
   "Is that a yes or am I on my own with this?"  
   "So _bull-headed_! You're **SURE** you're not Italian?" He said, helping Nicky to his feet.  
   "Eighty-nine percent English - _eleven percent stubborn_."  
   "Hmm."  
   Tony walked him slowly to Davy's bedside, sliding a nearby stool beneath him. Micky stood across from them on the other side of the bed.  
        ( _Click-click-click-woosh click-click-click-woosh_ )  
   The ventilator made a continuous chorus, filling his lungs with air. The sound was taunting, screaming of his weakened state; yet its rhythm soothed, a merciful surety in an uncertain moment. Just then, Gerry came in, having just come from the county lockup with news.  
   "Nicky I'm terribly sorry," he began, "I pray for a _full and speedy recovery_. Has the doctor made a prognosis?" He asked, turning to Tony.  
   "It's too soon to tell," Tony replied, "he's in a coma with a moderate concussion. He can't even _breathe_ on his own at this point."  
   A sob hitched in Micky's throat, as he stroked the lifeless hand he held in his own. Gerry laid a comforting hand on his back.  
   "I've spoke to administration, though nobody saw exactly what happened, they believe he was beaten by the brother of an inmate he had a fight with earlier today. The first man, Vernon Brooks, had taken his food at breakfast, and Davy fought him to keep his lunch - getting the best of the bigger man."  
   "Oh my _God_!" Micky breathed.  
   "He was headed for a visit with the staff psychiatrist; standard practice for someone accused of a violent crime, and never made the appointment. A search located him, _like this_ , on the floor near the medical wing. A records check placed Devin Brooks - _brother_ to Vernon - and two of his friends on work detail in the atrium next to where Davy was found.”  
   "Are they going to _do_ something about this?"  
   "Yes Nicky, an investigation is ongoing and video footage of the area is being reviewed. Proper measures _will_ be taken and disciplinary action meted out."  
   "They better pray I don't land in jail," Tony said, in an angry manner foreign to him, "I **_WILL_** become karma personified!"  
   "Let's just keep you out here where you're not so destructive," Gerry smiled, "You'll be far more useful and less of a threat on the _out_ side."  
   "Excuse me gentlemen," a nurse interrupted, "we've had a sudden shortage of blood plasma here in the hospital. We're asking anyone healthy enough if they would go down to the blood bank and donate today."  
   "I will, of course," Tony said.  
   "I can too," Nicky replied.  
   Micky nodded.  
   "How do we get there?" Gerry asked.  
   "Come to the desk when you're ready, we have printed maps showing the way. Thank you so much."  
   "We'll be there shortly."


	8. Chapter 8

   Mike and Peter cuddled together on the sofa, the Texan wrapping his protective arms possessively around his blond lover.  
   "You really did me proud today Cotton," he said, kissing the back of his neck, "scared the heck out of me too.. I don't _like_ bein scared."  
   "I'm sorry Michael; I _needed_ to do this thing today. I feel like a part of the team now, ya know."  
   "Well ya did the right theng by Davy."  
   Mike slid a hand inside of his shirt, his fingers stroking the other man's stomach.  
   Peter smiled knowingly.  
   "What's say you do right by _me_?"  
   The smoldering heat in Mike's coal-black eyes was telling indeed: His earlier fears needed to be purged - he would crush them now in the bedroom.  
   Urging Peter to his feet, he took his hand and led him to their room. Sitting on the bed, Mike shed his boots and leaned back on his elbows. Peter smiled at him, submission in his eyes and waited for the seduction to begin. He stood patiently, his body responding as Mike's eyes perused him blatantly.  
   "Unbutton your shirt, _slowly_ ," Mike ordered silkily.  
   Repressing a grin he did as instructed, a tiny thrill developing as the air breached his exposed skin.  
   Mike slid a hand down to his crotch, adjusting the growing length inside his own jeans.  
   "Now mine."  
   Catlike, Peter curled to all fours and holding Mike's gaze, slithered across to him enticingly. With nimble hands he opened each snap on the denim shirt. Shivery brushes of his fingertips brought goose bumps to the Texan's flesh as he tantalized with his feathery touch. He parted the fabric to either side, bending his head to suck a pleasure-heightened nipple between his lips. Mike moaned at the sensation, his lips moving in silent gratification. Peter drew back, balancing on his knees.  
   "Strip Peter."  
   "Anything you say Michael."  
  Standing, Peter shucked out of his shirt, letting it slip gracefully off of his shoulders to fall down his back. He caressed his own chest, his hands sliding sensually down his ribcage to settle on his abdomen. He opened his belt and undid the button of his Levis. A tooth at a time, he lowered his zipper, folding back one side of the top of his jeans. He pulled them down below his hips, blushing as Mike observed he wore no briefs.  
   "Stop!" Mike ordered, a smirk in his eyes, "stand here, hands at your sides."   
   Peter obeyed, grimacing inwardly, his exposed erection pointing skyward, aching to be touched. Mike radiated a wicked smile, sliding his pants to the floor. His massive cock - fully aroused - caught Peter's attention immediately.  
   "What?" He teased, "You _like_ what you see?"  
   "You _know_ I do."  
   "You want this doncha Pete. You little _slut_."  
          (Oh boy - _name calling_ \- this will be **hot** )  
   "Yes Michael. _May_ I?"  
   "Take off your pants; get on your knees."  
   Excited, Peter complied, eager for the next order. Mike stood and came around behind him. Dropping to his knees, he snaked an arm around his waist.  
   "You want it _bad_ ," he whispered, licking his earlobe, "tell me Peter - _tell_ me whatcha want.”  
   "Oh Michael," the older man groaned, "please, let me have you."  
   His ardor building Peter ground his sex against the mattress, yearning for contact.  
   "You horny little _cuss_ ," Mike growled against his neck, "you wanna hump like a dog I'm gonna _fuck_ you like one!"  
   Without warning he shoved forward, burying his full length in Peter's waiting heat, his lover biting his lip to keep from crying out. In a rapid steady rhythm, he pounded the tight flesh with a ruthless abandon. The slapping of his balls on Peter's ass inspired him and he landed a stinging smack to his lover's bottom.  
   "Please Michael - _touch me_ \- _**please**_?"  
   "I love it when you beg babe!" He crooned softly.  
   He eased his hand southward, teasing light traces along his lover's head. His rocking pace quickening, he nipped along the freckled shoulder kissing over each vexing bite. Mercifully he grasped Peter' throbbing shaft, tugging in duet with his own thrusting rhythm.  
   "You're _SO_ fuckin’ good," he growled, kissing and licking all the skin he could reach.  
   " _TAKE_ me Michael - take me _**HARD**_!"  
   Peter's words awoke the beast. His fire stoked to a raging inferno suddenly out of control, Mike pushed upward, nearly climbing his back. He jerked his lover's cock with the same fierce speed and angry power with which he slammed into his ass. Peter quickly reached his climax, spilling his endless load into Mike's eager hand, his rectum tightening in glorious spasms of wringing pleasure.  
   "Oh- **_FUCK, YES_**!" Mike shouted, his orgasm surging as the body around him clamped down, sucking every drop of rapture from the head of his dick. With a final lunge he shuddered, his emotional pain finally answered, his physical need satiated beyond understanding. Their sweat-soaked bodies sucked apart as they slid jelly-like to the carpeted floor beneath them. Breathless and so in love, they curled around each other and peacefully slept.  
                                                                                      *****  
   Detective Billows finished typing Rocket's statement, checking it over for errors. He brought it, along with the immunity deal, for him to sign.  
   "Once you put your John Hancock to these Ben, I'll get you processed and booked, and bond you out on your own recognizance."  
   Ben looked everything over carefully, and signed his name to both papers, Billows signing them as well.  
   "You did the right thing son, that boy _doesn’t deserve_ to be punished for nothing. Let’s head over to booking."  
   "Do me a favor wouldja?"  
   "I'll try."  
   "Make sure the kid knows I told the truth."  
   "I will."  
   On the way back from booking Billows stopped in at warrants, turning in the paperwork to take the next step. Back at his desk, he picked up the phone.  
   "Mr. Santini? Edward Billows. There's been a new development in David's case."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Gerry caught up with Tony and the others back in Davy's room. Nicky dozed in the reclining chair, still woozy from giving blood.  
   "Ger, you really don't have to stick around," Tony offered, "I'm sure you have _more_ than enough business we're keeping you from."  
    "As a matter of fact I'm _here_ on business. I got a call from Detective Billows just a little while ago."  
   "Don't tell me," Micky said sarcastically, "They’re blaming Davy for the _Lindbergh kidnapping_ , _JFK_ and the _wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald_."  
   "Not quite," Gerry chuckled, "Ben Worthington just turned states evidence: He signed a sworn statement against Dylan Roberts claiming that he framed Davy for the murder of Roger Perry.”  
   Micky was out of his seat and standing beside them before Gerry was fully finished.  
   "Oh _my GOD_ that's **_GREAT NEWS_** that means Davy is **free** and he can get better now and go home and everything is gonna be _GREAT_ and _boy oh boy_ are **they** gonna be sorry they accused the wrong guy man he's-"  
   " **Micky**!" Tony interrupted his excited monologue.  
   "… _What_?"  
   "It’s not _quite_ that simple."  
   "Oh."  
   "Well," Gerry said, "it's probably not going to be as _complicated_ as you think. There is a third party involved, and it's likely one of the two will turn on the other in favor of a lesser sentence. Regardless, with Worthington's affidavit, the statements from the two girls and the witnesses James Clancey rounded up in David's favor - he should be cleared of all charges within a week or so."  
   " _Really_?"  
   "Did I _hear you correctly_?" Nicky asked hopefully from the corner of the room.  
   "It looks like the LAPD _finally_ got their act together mi amore; Davy should be in the clear before you know it!"  
   "That's ** _fucking AWESOME_**!"  
   " _WOW_ Nicky!" Micky gaped.  
   Tony gave him a hard look.  
   "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, "it’s been a rough day."  
   "Yes. Well _DON'T_ make it a habit," Tony admonished, "It _doesn't_ suit you."  
   "Yes sir," Nicky grinned.  
   "Now if only -"  
   Micky was interrupted by a loud beeping from the direction of Davy's bed. Moments later two nurses rushed into the room, silencing the alarm, rapidly tending to Davy's ventilator.  
   "What's _happening_ , is he alright?" Nicky asked in a panic, "Tony - _what's going on_?"  
   "I'm not sure," he answered, fear in his voice, "come, out of the way mio piccolo mio, let them do their jobs."  
   Micky huddled with them, the three clinging together and praying hard, Gerry at Tony's side.  
   "On one -” a hurried nurse said to her partner, " _three, two, and ONE_."  
   Davy was gagging, a raspy choking coming from his throat. A clicking of buttons and  
        _**CLICK -CLICK-CLICK-HISSSSSS**_  
   "Respirations are thready at twenty-eight, BP one-ten over seventy."  
   A harsh coughing and sputtery, ragged breathing could be heard over the women's hunched shoulders.  
   "Respiration seventeen, BP holding."  
   "I'll get Dr. Bowen."  
   " _Please_ , Tony pleaded, "Is Davy alright?"  
   "We took him off the respirator sir; his pulmonary function increased causing respiratory distress."  
   "Can you repeat that in English?" Micky asked, confused.  
   "He started breathing on is own - and his lungs were fighting with the respirator."  
   "Excuse me gentlemen," the doctor pressed through.  
   Several tense moments ticked slowly by as the medical team went about a thorough examination, speaking quietly amongst themselves.  
   "I'd like a new CT of the _medulla oblongata_ , continue CP monitoring and administer five MGs sussefrin IV drip over the next eight hours. Update me every _two_."  
   "Yes doctor."  
   "Doc is - is he _okay_?"  
   "Are you family son?"  
   "I'm his older brother sir."  
   "I won't know for certain till I get the CAT scan back, but I think the inter-cranial pressure is reducing on his brain. We've had to do a ventriculoscomy - the drilling of a hole in the skull to place a drainage tube - to relieve blood or fluid pressure from inside his head. This added pressure and subsequent swelling was affecting the lower portion of his brain, which controls lung function. As the swelling dissipates, normal function should return."  
   "So this is a _good_ sign?" Tony ventured.  
   "Theoretically yes. Again, without a CT scan, I won't know _WHAT_ is going on in there. The good news here is that he's breathing on his own."  
   "Thanks doc," Micky said, giving his hand a grateful shake.  
   "It's shaping into a better day," Tony said when they were alone.  
   "Yes, "Nicky nodded, "I just wish that he'd _wake up_."  
   "I gotta good feeling that he will," Micky said.  
                                                                                      *****  
   Detective Sergeant Edward Billows was a dedicated officer of the law with thirteen years on the force. His commitment to superior police work was second to none, his instincts excellent. He rarely made an error in judgment, but when it happened, he gave his all to set things to rights. At the moment, that was the Jones case.  
   His misery over the young man's horrible injuries in Lost Hills was genuine, and he fully intended to rectify the situation. A visit to the hospital was on his agenda, but Dylan Roberts was his first priority. The drive to Malibu was calming and gave him an opportunity to rehearse in his head how to carry the arrest off. Easy way or the hard way, he mentally prepared for either scenario.  
   Four unmarked units would be meeting him for the apprehension of Roberts, the location of Charles 'Chaz' Blakely being still unknown. By all reports Dylan was a night bird, sleeping off his revelries by the light of the sun. The early-afternoon raid and arrest would most likely net them the greatest results. He checked his watch: one forty-eight. It would all go down at two o'clock. He parked his car on Malibu County Lane and waited. Ten minutes later, the entire team was assembled and ready to go. They drove around to West Beach Lane to their destination, quietly filing out of their cars. Five armed officers went to the back, four to the front. On Billows signal, they stormed the house, bursting through both entrances. A man sleeping on the couch was startled awake, jumping to his feet.  
   "Police, _get down on the floor_! **On your knees - _NOW_**! Hands _behind_ your head!"  
   With their weapons drawn against him, the man had little choice but to comply. In a back bedroom, a second man was apprehended: It was Dylan Roberts. The two were read their Miranda rights and placed in separate vehicles while a search of the house was conducted. The discovery of a large amount of cocaine led Billows to call in the narcotics task force. Bales of marijuana, four handguns, neighborhood maps and two large knives were tagged, and bagged into evidence. A small duffle bag containing a large amount of cash was seized as well. Billows signed the scene over to the NARC investigator and made his way back to Lost Hills with his suspects.


	9. Chapter 9

   Mike and Peter joined the others to take up vigil at Davy's bedside. His condition hadn't worsened but neither had he woke up. Tony bought some supper for everyone in the hospital cafeteria, to catch everybody up and spend a little family time.  
   "So thanks to Peter, Rocket fessed up and threw his cohorts over the side," Tony explained, "Billows called to say they were both in custody."  
   "Told you ya done me proud Cotton," Mike beamed.  
   "Thanks Mike."  
   "Davy started breathing on his own this afternoon," Nicky chimed in, "they think the brain swelling is finally going down."  
   " _Brain swelling_?"  
   "Yaa Mike its crazy," Micky spoke up, "they drilled a _hole_ in his skull to relieve the pressure!"  
   "Speaking of Davy," Tony said, "if we're all finished we should head back upstairs."

   Back on the third floor, they walked into Davy's room to find him sitting up in bed.  
   " _Davy_!"  
   "He-hey kiddo!"  
   "Davy babe, you’re _awake_!"  
   " _Daggum Tiny_!" Mike breathed, seeing his injuries for the first time.  
       Peter began to cry.  
   Davy blinked at them through his swollen eyelids, a puzzled look on his face.  
   "C-can I _help_ you guys?"  
   They looked at one another, confusion and panic setting in.  
   "Davy, it’s me, **_Nicky_**."  
   "I think you have the wrong.. place."  
   " _Shit_ ," Tony muttered, running from the room.  
   "Dave, it's us - your _family_ \- don't you know who we are?" Micky pled.  
   Davy shook his head.  
   Tony came back with the doctor.  
   "Hello, I'm Dr. Bowen, how are you feeling young man?"  
   "I've a _terrible_ 'eadache."  
   "Yes I'm sure, can you tell me your name?"  
   A look of consternation crossed Davy's broken features, as he was clearly struggling for an answer.  
   "How about the date, can you tell me what year it is," the doctor asked, shining a light in his eyes.  
   "I - _I dunno_!" he replied, fear tingeing his voice.  
   "Relax for a moment will you son?"  
   Pulling Tony aside, Dr. Bowen spoke in a hushed tone.  
   "Mr. Martinelli, it appears that David is suffering from some amnesia from his head trauma."  
   "That's what I was afraid of doc. Do you think it will reverse?"  
   "It's entirely possible, but there's really no way to tell at this point. Try not to pressure him too much to remember, but offer gentle reminders."  
   " _Damn_. Okay doctor, thank you."  
   "Alright David," Dr. Bowen returned to his patient, "It seems you're having some memory issues, a touch of amnesia from your head injuries. I'm fairly certain it will pass over time, though how much time is difficult to say. Your family here will help you along until the memories start opening up, you'll be in good hands. I'll order you something for that headache. Alright?"  
   " ... Okay, I _guess_ so."  
   The awkward moment seemed to drag on for an eternity after the doctor left the room. Peter was the first to break the ice.  
   "I've really missed you back at the pad Davy."  
   "We all have Tiny."  
   "Thanks, I guess. We live _together_?"  
   "Yaa," Micky said, "you, me, Mike and Pete."  
   "Oh."  
   "Do you remember _anything_ kiddo?" Tony ventured.  
   Davy seemed to concentrate for a moment, striving to pull up any recollections he could.  
   "I _kinda_ remember.. being in a _fight_."  
   "Okay, you were - _two_ actually. You don't recognize **_any_** of us?"  
   He looked carefully from one to the other of the people surrounding him, stopping on Nicky.  
   "No, I'm sorry. Except, you," he pointed to his brother, "and you," he said to Micky, "I - well I feel like.. like I really _SHOULD_ know you."  
   "Davy, I'm your brother, Nicholas. Well, _Nicky_."  
   Davy nodded, turning a questioning gaze on Micky.  
   "I'm.. we're …"  
   "Micky is your _significant other_ Davy," Tony spoke up, "the two of you are dating."  
   " _Really_?" Davy said, "Well at least I 'ave some **_taste_** ," he smiled.  
   "I need to see your armband sweetie," a young nurse had come into the room.  
   Examining the plastic strap on his wrist, he stared blankly at the foreignness that was his own name, offering it up for her scrutiny.  
   "Yep, you're the one I'm looking for. Have some Skelaxin for your headache. "  
   She handed him two pills in a tiny paper cup. He swallowed them down with a drink of water.  
   "Thanks miss."  
   She smiled and left the room.  
   "So. The _rest_ of you?"  
   "I'm Peter, Tork. We live in the same beach house together in Malibu; I play bass and keyboards in our band."  
   "We're in a _band_?"  
   Micky, Mike and Peter exchanged panicked, open-mouthed stares.  
   "Well _yaa_ shotgun, we're the _**Monkees**_. I play twelve string lead guitar n Micky plays the drums."  
   "N wha' about me?"  
   "Percussion," Micky said, "Maracas, tambourine and you sing _**GREAT**_."  
   "So we're good? Are we _famous_ or anything?"  
   "Well we're not yet, but we do have a good _local_ fan base."  
   Davy turned to Tony.  
   "So what're you in all o this?"  
   "I'm your legal guardian Davy."  
   " **Guardian**? How… _how old am I_?"  
   "You're nineteen kiddo," Tony chuckled, "it's a little complicated, but if you're up to it right now I _will_ explain it to you."  
   "Truthfully, I just wanna go to sleep. I'm exhausted n me 'ead is _pounding_."  
   "How bout we go get a room for the night and we'll come back in the morning," Tony suggested."  
   "Sounds fine by me," Davy said casually.  
   "Alright, we'll be back tomorrow then, try to get some rest kiddo."  
   "Night Tiny," Mike called.  
   "I hope you feel better soon Davy," Peter said.  
   The three made a move for the door and paused, as Micky and Nicky were hanging behind.  
   "We'll be out in the hallway when you two are ready," Tony said, "take your time."  
   "Bubba," Nicky said softly, "I'm leaving you my cell phone number, in case you need anything - or just want to talk. I don't _care_ what time. I love you little bro."  
   "Thank you.. N-Nicky. I'm sorry, I wish I could do.. bettah than this."  
  "Still the same old Davy," he laughed, "it's not your fault. Just focus on getting well, the rest - your memory and all - will happen when it’s _ready_."  
   He hugged him lightly and left the room.  
   Micky walked to his bedside and took him by the hand.  
   "Davy, I don't wanna make you - uncomfortable. Is it okay if I kiss you good night?"  
   "What did you say your name is again?"  
   "… Micky," he answered, a slight sad tremor in his throat.  
   "Micky.. and - we're _dating_?"  
   "Yes.. since back in October. It's _okay_ if you can't or don't want to, I'll under-"  
   "You _talk_ too much, shut up n **_kiss_** me."  
   Micky grinned from ear to ear, leaning in to tenderly consume the bruised and swollen lips.  
   "Hmm," Davy smiled, a finger pressed to his lips "seems like I'd _remember_ **THAT**. Again?"  
   "Anytime."  
   They kissed once more, Davy tangling his good hand in Micky's dark hair.  
   "Yaa. Yer uh comin' _back_ tomorrow, right?"  
   "Cookie you couldn't _**keep**_ me away!"  
   "Groovy. Night Micky."  
   "Night babe, I love you."  
                                                                       *  
   Dylan Roberts was in deep and he knew it. The drug charges against him were going to stick regardless and he was hoping against hope that Chaz could hold his own with the crafty detective. Certain that his string of clients and local friends would support him, he was unruffled by the fact that he was being accused of conspiracy. All he could do for the moment was sit in his holding cell and wait.  
   Charles Blakely sat sweaty and panicked in the interrogation room. He'd had a few scrapes with the law as a teen, mostly for skipping school or violating curfew. Handcuffed and shackled to the floor, his thoughts raced as to Dylan's loyalty to him: He had after all dropped Rocket, a longtime friend, without a backward glance - even suggesting that Chaz 'take him out'. Detective Billows opened the door and took a seat across from him, a Cheshire grin adorning his face.  
   "Get you anything Blakely, before we begin?"  
   The words jumped out before he could stop himself.  
   "A large pepperoni pizza with double cheese and a two liter of Coke."  
          (I'm watching _way_ too much TV)  
   "Something till it gets here?"  
   "Another coke?"  
   "Sit tight," Billows smiled.  
   He fetched the soft drink and a coffee for himself, and recorder rolling began his line of questions.  
   "Tell me about Roger Perry."  
   "Who?"  
   "Your _cousin_ Chaz - the one you killed for Dylan Roberts."  
   Barely contained shock stood starkly on the younger man's face.  
   "Oh yes, I've already had a _lengthy_ conversation with your co-conspirator.  
          (Not telling you _which_ one)  
   "Your buddy Dylan is already looking at a _LOT_ of trouble for drugs and racketeering charges. He isn't planning on going down alone for capital murder."  
   The confident, smirking glint in Billows eyes was well rehearsed and convincing. A tiny blue vein clearly pulsed in Chaz's temple.  
   "You're bluffing me."  
  " _Am_ I now. So you're telling me that you were _not_ at the party the night Perry was stabbed. That you, Roberts and," he opened his file for effect, " _Ben Worthington_ did _not_ conspire to murder Roger Perry in an effort to gain control of his drug territory for Dylan Robert's domain?"  
   Tiny beads of perspiration had formed on the wide-eyed Chaz's forehead, his rapid breathing and trembling hands revealing his nervous stupor.  
    "That Worthington and Roberts didn't single out a _David Jones_ as an ' ** _easy pigeon_** ' - to use _YOUR_ own words - that you would later frame for the same murder? With Rocket's help and Robert's instruction?"  
   "I-"  
   "Pretty slick.. _almost_ worked Charles."  
   "It _wasn't_ my idea!"  
   "I figured that much. You should know that we now have several signed witness statements identifying you as Roger Perry's murderer. With your accomplice's corroboration, you're facing the _gas chamber_ Charles."  
   This last revelation sent him over the edge. His fear outweighing his trust in his friends, Chaz sang like a caged canary.  
   "Dylan staged the entire thing, start to finish. He asked me to.. to do it. He guaranteed that the Jones kid would take the fall - even supplied all the ' _right_ ’ drugs at the party - said everyone would be too screwed up to remember the details right. He wanted Roger out of the way cuz he was holding him back on the cocaine market on the southwestern coast. He wanted me to knock off _Rocket_ too.. said he'd become a risk."  
   "Tell me _YOUR_ version of how the murder went down, right up to pinning the Jones kid for it."  
   "I'll tell you _every_ fucking thing - and _more_ \- promise me first, _**promise me**_ I'm not gonna go to the gas chamber."  
   "Charles, you come clean with me and I'll guarantee you, you _will live_."  
   " _Promise_?" He said again, tears in his eyes.  
   "You have my word."  
                                                                                    *  
   Gerry was in L.A. on business and located Tony and the guys at their hotel - he had news.  
   "First off, how's our boy?"  
   "He's awake," Tony said, "but, he has _amnesi_ a. Doesn't remember anybody, _**even himself**_."  
   "Aww damn! That poor kid just doesn't catch a break!"  
   "No, he really doesn't. Doctor feels that given enough time he may _recover_ his memories, but it’s really too soon to tell. Any good word?"  
   "Very good word. Where's the family, I'd really like for everyone to hear this."  
   "Give me a second, they're all out on the patio."  
   "Why don't we just go on out, it’s a _beautiful_ night."  
   "Sounds great Gerry."  
   Out onto the covered veranda a canopy of stars blanketed the cool evening. Gerry was greeted with friendly, eager faces.  
   "Hello everyone, good to be able to catch up with you all again.  
   "Hey Gerry."  
   "Gerry, what's got you out here so late?"  
   "Howdy Gerry."  
   "Well," he said, taking a seat, "I was in the neighborhood and stopped by to bring you all the latest news."  
   "Good news I hope," Nicky said dully, "could _definitely_ use some."  
   "Oh it’s great news!”  
   "You're killing me -" Micky said anxiously, " _spill_!"  
   "I got a call from LAPD.. Billows wrapped up his investigation this evening."  
   "… _AND_?"  
   "Tomorrow morning he'll be going in front of Judge Huff, as will I. Since Billows squeezed signed confessions from Dylan Roberts and Chaz Blakely, all charges against Davy will be officially dismissed tomorrow and his record expunged."  
   "Oh my GOD Gerry - that is _ **AWESOME**_ news'" Nicky exclaimed.  
   "That means he can come home!" Micky said excitedly, "well, as soon as he's able."  
   "Yes, he'll be a free man."  
   "Bear in mind fellows, he still has no idea who we are - he may be .. _edgy_ , about coming home with us." Tony reminded.  
   "If you'd have seen him kissing me earlier tonight," Micky objected, "he's not _THAT_ edgy.  
   " _Perhaps_. I just want everyone to be prepared for whatever emotions he may experience. Okay?"  
   "Whatever it takes to git ol Tiny back on his feet," Mike spoke up, "I'm _in_."  
   "Me too," Peter added, "I love that little guy."  
   "Right." Nicky nodded.  
   "I understand photos and physical memories can often jog the memory of an amnesia patient, something you may want to consider."  
   "Gerry that's a great idea! We'll get on that right away!"  
                                                                         *  
   Davy lay in the hospital bed tossing in his sleep. Plagued with fragmented dreams and abstract, phantom images his slumber was all but restful. A cold, slick sweat covered his skin as nightmarish images played before his mind's eye:  
                                  _A horrific accident on a rainy night's drive; raging pain in the broken_  
 _body of his child-self in the aftermath. Cruel beatings and days of_  
 _aching hunger shut away in darkness. Laughter in the snow from an_  
 _unseen playmate - a brown-haired boy and suddenly, a thunderstorm_  
 _on a sandy beach - then the barred windows and doors of a locked jail_  
 _cell. The smiling, tender face of his lovely mother - a looming and_  
 _violent Devin Brooks._  
        He screamed  
   A nurse came running into his room to find him sitting bolt upright in his bed, body rigid, eyes wide with fear.  
   "Calm down sweetie," she rubbed his arm, "tell me what's the matter?"  
   "N-n- _night_ mare!" Davy stammered through panting breaths.  
   "You're alright now, it’s just a dream. Do you want something to help you sleep?"  
   "No! I don' _wanna_ sleep!"  
   "Do you want me to leave the lights on?"  
   Davy nodded, his heartbeat finally slowing.  
   "Is there someone I can call for you hon?"  
   He eyed the slip of paper that Nicky had left him earlier. Emotion won out over logic and he handed the number to the nurse.  
   "Ask him if he can come. Ask if he can bring.. erm.. the guy I'm um.. _dating_."  
   She gave him an odd smile and nodded, leaving him to wade through his private hell.  
   Fifteen minutes later, Nicky and Micky walked through the door.  
   "Davy, what’s up babe?"  
   "Bubba are you _okay_?"  
   "Man am I glad to see _you_ two!"  
   He held out his arm, his lover and brother falling easily into it.  
   "The nurse called," Nicky said worriedly, "she said you wanted us up here right away. What's wrong Davy?"  
   "It's sorta silly. I.. I had a nightmare. Some really _freaky_ shit."  
   "Not so silly," Micky soothed, "nightmares can be _seriously_ scary.”  
   "We'd have come if you just wanted ice cream," Nicky smiled.  
   Seized by a sudden sharp pain, Davy grabbed his head.  
   " **OH**!" He cried.  
   "Davy what is it?" the two men called, practically in unison.  
   "I dunno, but it **hurts**!" He said, his hand moving to press on his eyes.  
   "Micky go-" Nicky began.  
   "I'm already on it!" He said, racing into the hall.  
   "Hang on Bubba, help is coming."  
   Micky returned immediately with Davy's nurse.  
   "What’s wrong kiddo?" She asked, taking his pulse.  
   "My _‘ead_ \- it feels like someone is _**stabbing**_ my brain!”  
   "Let me have a look at your eyes."  
   She examined his pupils, with and without her penlight.  
   "What was going on when this happened? Any conversation?"  
   "Well yes," Nicky said, "I'd said that we'd be here no matter what."  
   "Nothing that would trigger his memory?"  
   " ... Um _maybe_ ," Nicky's eyes widened, "is _**that**_ what caused it?"  
   "With amnesia certain things will unlock recall - sounds, smells and certain words - and often it causes a _neural response_ , like a headache."  
   "But he's okay though, right?" Micky asked.  
   "Absolutely, his vitals are great, his pupils are normal and reactive, his vision is fine - I'll get him something for the migraine and he'll be good as new."  
   "Whew!" Nicky breathed.  
   "I'm sorry I dragged you guys out in the middle of the night."  
   "Bubba I'd go _anywhere_ any _time_ and do _**anything** _ for you."  
    Micky nodded beside him.  
   "Still.. I just felt so alone. I dunno why, but I feel connected to you two.. **_more_** than the others. Is that _bad_?"  
   "No babe, it kinda makes sense. You've known your brother longer than any of us, n me.. well," he laughed, "we spend a **LOT** of um.. _quality_ time together.”  
   The nurse reappeared with his medication in hand.  
   "Got a little shot for you hon."  
   "Oh _REALLY_?" Davy said wild eyed, "But I _**HATE**_ needles!"  
   "No worries, it goes in your IV line kiddo."  
   At her words, Davy reached for his forehead again, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.  
   "More pain?" She asked.  
   "Yes, a _lot_."  
   (It was _'kiddo'_ ) Nicky mumbled under his breath.  
   "What?" Micky asked.  
   "Nothing. Come to the vending machines with me?"  
   Catching his hint, Micky nodded.  
   "We'll be right back Davy, you want anything?"  
   "Could I have a _Coke_?"  
   "You got it."  
   Out in the hallway Micky was about to burst.  
   "What, what is it? You look like you _know_ something."  
   "I think that Davy is remembering.. things. Or maybe the _door is opening_."  
   "Whatta ya mean?"  
   "Well the first headache came right after I mentioned ice cream - a real emotional topic for him, as you know. When the nurse called him 'kiddo' _TWICE_ \- well he flinched the first time and got more pain the second."  
   "Could be a coincidence Nicky, Tony said not to get our hopes up."  
   "Okay _maybe_. There was something else though. When she came in to give him the shot, he **FREAKED** and told her: _I don't like needles_. Last night he didn't even know his own **_name_**!"  
   Micky's eyes and smile grew mutually wide.  
   "Wow, I _totally missed_ that! You're very observant Nicky, dang!"  
   "Let's just be cool about everything, he has to remember it all on his own."  
   "You got it, I'm mister _ice_."


	10. Chapter 10

   When they returned to his room, Davy had fallen asleep, the medicine working its magic on him. The decision was made that they would stay, as he seemed to relate to them so well. Nicky called Tony, advising him first that Davy was fine, and that they would be spending the night. He recapped the discussion he'd had with Micky, delighting Tony that his pet name of 'kiddo' had produced a reaction in their youngest one.  
   "Are any of you going to court in the morning?"  
   "As Davy's guardian, I feel it’s my _place_. Peter and Mike are heading up there with you two right after breakfast."  
   "Please, Tony - bring us the details."  
   "Mio caro amico, you will be the _first_ to know."  
                                                                                      *****  
   In cell fourteen B, Neal Pierce lay awake considering his new cellmate - he neither liked nor trusted the man, and his instincts seldom failed him. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but something internal shrieked at him to watch his back and pay attention. The man's foul breath wasn't the only thing that was rotten, his cocky arrogance and smug, superior attitude told him that Dylan Roberts was a troublemaker and a fool.  
          (I'm watching you - you sorry ass)  
   He had already noted that his unwelcome bunkmate was fairly thick with another newcomer; he’d made a mental note to keep an eye on their activities. Eventually, people like Roberts _always_ made a mistake. When it happened, Neal would be there, taking careful notes.  
                                                                                      *****  
   Micky watched as Davy slept peacefully across the room. Outwardly, there had been no signs of any more nightmares, a serene innocence painting Davy's handsome youthful face. Memories filled his thoughts in the deep quiet of the early morning, a passing smile or frown crossing his features as different moments took shape in his churning mind.  
   "What are you thinking about?" Nicky's voice came from across the darkened space.  
   "How could you _tell_?"  
   "Your face is an obvious mask of expression - smiling one minute eyebrows raised - sad or grimacing the next."  
   Micky chuckled half to himself.  
   "Yaa.. my mom always said it was how she knew I was _lying_ when I got in trouble as a kid, said my expressive face was a _dead giveaway_."  
   "Moms just _KNOW_ things I think. Our mum was that way; she said she had eyes in the back of her head and ears in every wall. Penny for your thoughts?"  
   "Just wandering I guess. Remembering so many things that we've been through together. He looks totally peaceful right now. "  
   "You really love him don't you Micky?"  
   "Yes," he nodded, "more then he'll ever know I'm thinking.”  
   "I think he knows - the Davy that’s buried inside - else he wouldn't want us here. He loves you too."  
   Micky smiled.  
   "I want you to know, I'll _never_ hurt him."  
   "I believe that. I've watched the two of you together; it's a good thing between you. I'm happy he has you."  
   " _Really_?"  
   "Yes. You’re like an anchor for Davy, a _constant_. Your high-energy zest for life and the way you love him unconditionally grounds him, and makes him want to be his best self. You complement each other very well."  
   "He makes me so comfortable with who I am, like there's _nothing_ I can't do with him by my side. He's my best friend."  
   "He lights up around you. He smiles that genuine thousand-watt grin I remember _so well_ from when we were young and life was perfect. You've made it good for him again."  
   "You have too Nicky. Talk about _hero worship_! To hear it from Davy they invented big brothers with you, hung the sun and moon in your eyes and then _broke the mold_."  
   "I'd give up everything I have or want or could be to see him happy. That's my _world_ asleep in that bed, my little bubba."  
   "Then we have _everything_ in common, you and me."  
   Davy stirred in his sleep.  
   "Tony?"  
   "He's dreaming again," Micky whispered, standing up.  
   "He called Tony's name!"  
   "Tony, where's Mike? Petah's gon' worry if we don' find him."  
   "Should we wake him up?"  
   "No no - whatever's going on in his head Micky, he's _remembering_ things - let's just let him go. We'll keep an eye out in case it gets bad, but as long as he isn't flipping out, _let_ him remember."  
   "I love you Micky."  
   Micky smiled.  
   "I love _you_ little one," he whispered softly.  
   "Bubba, I'm home." Davy smiled in his dreams.  
   "With _you_ little brother," Nicky gently whispered, "I'm always home too."  
                                                                                      *****  
   The courtroom was nearly packed to capacity when Tony took his place next to Gerry. The inmates on the morning's docket were led, shackled, single file into the front two rows of the left side of the seating area.  
   "Which one _is_ he?" Tony inquired quietly.  
   "Third from the right, front row,” Gerry whispered, “Chaz, the other one is right behind him.”  
   Tony got his first look at the twisted evil man that had wreaked so much havoc in Davy's life: The man _looked_ dirty.  
   "All rise," The bailiff called as the judge stepped in from his chambers, "This court is now in session, The Honorable Judge Ward Huff presiding. God bless the United States, the state of California and this humble court. Please remain standing for the pledge of allegiance."  
   Davy's case was called up third, with Gerry, Tony and Detective Billows standing in on his behalf.  
   "Counselor where is your client?"  
   "Your honor, Mr. Jones is currently in the ICU at St. John's, as he was _brutally beaten_ by three fellow inmates at the Lost Hills jail," Gerry said.  
   "I see. Are you prepared to offer a plea on his behalf or do you wish to reconvene?"  
   "Your honor, if I may; I'm Detective Sergeant Edward Billows of the LAPD homicide unit. I've met with the district attorney in reference to this case and with your honor's permission we'd like to approach the bench with some new evidence that has urgent bearing on this matter."  
   "You may proceed. Does counsel for the defense wish to be a party?"  
   "Yes your honor if it please the court."  
   "You may proceed counselor."  
   The three men stood before the judge, speaking in hushed tones, presenting him documents, affidavits and the signed confessions.  
   Judge Huff examined the paperwork, asking questions and nodding often. The discussion continued for several minutes, Tony's anticipation piquing, his heart pounding.  
   "Gentleman," the judge stated, "you may step down."  
   Everyone resumed their places in the gallery, awaiting the judge’s decision anxiously.  
   "In the matter of the State of California vs. David Thomas Jones, case number _F1521936_. In light of new evidence brought before this court that I deem to be true and correct in all appearances, I hereby dismiss all charges in the above named case and order that Mr. Jones record be expunged of any and all wrongdoing related to this case. It is further ordered that Mr. Jones be immediately released from his incarceration and returned to the custody of his legal guardian Mr. Antonio Martinelli. _Next case_."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Mike and Peter went into the room to discover a hapless impromptu pajama party: Davy asleep in the hospital bed with Nicky and Micky dozing, their heads on either side of him.  
   "Aww, how **sweet** ," Peter smiled.  
   "Peter you're all heart."  
   "I wish I had my camera."  
   "I'd be happy with a sharp pencil and a notepad."  
   "What is it?" Nicky mumbled, rousing slowly from his slumber.  
   "Mornin shotgun."  
   "Morning. What time is it?"  
   "Just after ten. Y'all been asleep long?"  
   "About five hours I guess."  
   "Micky. Mick, wake up.”  
   "Huh-what?"  
   "Rise n shine."  
   "Oh hey guys, when did _you_ get here?"  
   "Just a few minutes ago. How is Davy?"  
   "Same I guess. He's been sleeping for a while."  
   As if on cue, Davy fluttered his eyelids and stretched in a long feline posture. He blinked twice and opened his eyes.  
   "Mornin Tiny."  
   "G'mornin Mike."  
   " _ **Davy**_?" Nicky exclaimed.  
   "Wha'?"  
   "Um.. you _h-hungry_?" He offered, quickly changing tracks.  
   "You know me, I'm _ALWAYS_ hungry."  
   Mike and Nicky exchanged a glance.  
   "How ya feelin today shotgun?" Mike asked slyly.  
   “M’really hurtin.. but mostly just tired. Petah, you look _rough_ \- are you alright?"  
   "I'm tired too, and a little confused." Peter turned to Mike.  
   "Michael, I thought you said he wouldn't _know_ me?"  
   "Um yaa, Cotton, come out in the hall for a sec."  
   "I'm coming with you," Micky called.  
   "We'll be right back Davy," Nicky said, following the others out of the room.  
   "Okay, is anyone else thinking what _I'm_ thinking?" Nicky asked bluntly.  
   "That he _knew_ who we were?" Mike grinned knowingly.  
   "Do you think it’s a fluke?" Micky asked nervously, "I mean - could he really be better that fast?"  
   "Michael, does he know me or doesn't he?" Peter asked, his brows knit together.  
   "With amnesia Peter it could come and go. A minute ago he _knew_ who we were, but we could walk back in there and his memory might be a blank again."  
   "C’mon, “Nicky suggested, "I don't wanna leave him alone too long."  
   Davy gave them a strained look when they came back into his room.  
   " _Wha's goin' on_?"  
   "Sorry Davy," Nicky said, "had to sort out a little confusion."  
   "S'there somethin' you guys are _keepin_ ' from me? Am I worse orf than I _think_?" He asked, tension in his face.  
   "No _no_ \- I - that is.. you-" Nicky fumbled.  
   "Do you want the _absolute_ truth Tiny?" Mike jumped in.  
   "Y-yaa," Davy swallowed, "I-I can _take_ it."  
   "Mike approached him slowly, his boot heels clicking ominously on the tiled floor.  
   "Alright. You know ol Peter here n how he gets confused."  
   "Yes."  
   "Well I needed to explain to him what was goin on with you, and wasn't sure I should do it in _front_ of you."  
   "Wha' exactly _IS_ going on?"  
   "I'll tell you ever’theng shotgun, cross my heart. Will you answer me sumthin first?"  
   "I'll try."  
   "Tell me your name."  
   "Wait - _wha_ '?"  
   "Just humor this goofy ol Texan wouldja Tiny?"  
   "It's _David Jones_. I don't see-"  
   "How old are you shotgun?"  
   "I'm nineteen," Davy blinked.  
   "Where were you born?"  
   "Manchester England. Mike, _wha's going on_?"  
   Mike smiled his classic grin.  
   "Davy you've been unconscious. When you woke up you had a mild case of amnesia."  
   "Yer _crackahs_.”  
   "He's telling you the truth bubba."  
   "Ya didn't even know your _own name._ " Mike added.  
   "You still _kissed_ me though!" Micky pointed out with a grin.  
   "Hey kiddo you're _awake_!” Tony greeted eagerly as he strolled into the room, “How are you today?"  
   "Not a bloody _WORD_ from anyone!" Davy warned, "Tony, tell me - has anything.. odd - happened to me in the last couple days?"  
   Tony looked nervously at the silent group.  
   Then realization hit him.  
   " _Davy_ \- you **KNOW** me?!"  
   "Then it's _true_."  
   "I'm not sure exactly what ' _it_ ' is kiddo, but yesterday when we left you, you didn't know _any_ body - not even _**yourself**_."  
   "I thought you guys were 'aving me on. I _really_ had amnesia?"  
   "And you _still_ kissed me," Micky winked.  
   "Is that why I'm in the hospital?"  
   "You don't remember the fi-"  
   "Micky," Tony pointedly interrupted, "why don't you fetch the doctor, I'm sure they need to give Davy a once-over."  
   Micky's eyes and terse nod spoke what his lips did not: I get it - _shut my big mouth_.  
   He left the room, head lowered, his hands jammed in his pockets.  
   "How's your headache today Bubba?"  
   "S'not hurting as much."  
   "Well David," Dr. Bowen came in, "making progress are we?"  
   "I think so."  
   "Let me have a look. Tell me, what's the last thing you recall before waking up today?"  
   "Making lo- .. _ **erm**_ , going to _sleep_ with Micky at 'ome," he grinned.  
   "And before _that_?"  
   Davy frowned, raising a hand to his temple.  
   "Headache?"  
   " _Yes_ , right behind me eyes."  
   "No recollection before going to bed?"  
   "No, not really."  
   "That’s alright. Look around son, do you recognize everyone here?"  
   "Sure. That's Petah n Mike, Micky, Nicky and Tony."  
   Tony nodded to confirm this.  
   "When is your birthday?"  
   "December thirtieth."  
   "Favorite color?"  
   "Black and red."  
   "He's right on the money doc," Micky said.  
  "Very good. It seems you're recovering, and quickly I might add, from your memory loss. One of two things is happening now: Either your recall is coming in stages and gaps, or for whatever reason you're retaining a bit of selective amnesia."  
   "You mean he's _choosing_ what he remembers?" Tony asked.  
   "In a sense yes, but he isn't aware of it."  
   "Not follerin ya there doc," Mike said.  
   "It often occurs in a case of trauma that the victim develops a subconscious method of self preservation. If an event is too painful or frightening to think of, the mind simply blocks the memory, protecting the person's mental stability. So by choice, or _selectively_ , he can't remember."  
   "Will I ever get the memories back?"  
   "Entirely possible David. Feeling secure is probably key, when your mind believes it’s _safe_ to know, the missing time may come flooding back."  
   "Or.. maybe ** _nevah_** , _right_?"  
   "That's possible too. I think it _will_ , you're healthy and strong and your mind is sound. You have a wonderful supportive family here, it just takes time sometimes. Do you need something for that headache?"  
   "I think I'm gonna try to ride this one out."  
   "If you change your mind, ring for the nurse."  
   "I will, thanks doc."  
   "So Tony, how did everything go today?"  
   "Mike our Davy is a free man! No charges, _no record_."  
   " **REALLY**?!" Nicky shouted, "That’s _incredible_ news!"  
   " _ **Woohoo** _ my baby's comin _home_!"  
   "What're you _talking_ about? What _charges_?" Davy asked innocently.  
   "Kiddo, before I tell you anything, let me see what the doctor thinks about dropping a bomb like this on you. Its something you've obviously blocked out. Okay?"  
   "Sure, why not."  
   Tony returned with Dr. Bowen at his side.  
   "Okay Davy, doc says it's alright to tell you anything you want to know, provided he's able to be present in a medical capacity. That okay with you?"  
   "I guess it'd be alright."  
   "Okay. What do you want to know kiddo?"  
   " _Why_ am I in the hospital? What _**charges**_ were you talkin out?"  
   "Davy does the name Dylan Roberts or Roger Perry ring a bell?"  
   ".. No, and I was hoping fer ahnswers, not more questions."  
   "I'm getting there kiddo. You're here bud because you were badly beaten by three inmates at the Lost Hills branch of the L.A. county jail."  
   "Was I _in_ jail or were _they_ out?"  
   "You'd been incarcerated - falsely accused of a crime - which you were _officially cleared of_ today."  
   "What crime?"  
   "Dylan Roberts and two of his friends framed you for capital murder."  
   " _ **Murder**_?!"  
   "Yes. You don't recall the night of the party?"  
Davy closed his eyes against the pain and in the struggle to remember. His hand shook as he raised it to massage his eyes, his breathing heavy in his chest.  
   "Dave?"  
   "Bubba?"  
   Davy looked at them with wide, staring panicky eyes, a slick sweat forming on his forehead. His pupils were merely pinpoints in the ghostly-white backdrop of his ashen face. He tried to speak, but only produced an incoherent stuttering, a jumbled, hurried mass of syllables.  
   "Doc what the -"Micky began.  
The doctor however was already at his bedside, plunging a needle into Davy’s arm. He gasped slightly at the shock, and wordlessly slumped back onto his pillows.  
   "What happened to him?" Nicky asked frantically.  
   "A little sensory overload. I anticipated _something_ like this," Dr. Bowen said, "he'll sleep for a while; I gave him haldol to calm the hysteria before it could start. Why don't you all take a break, he'll be out for at _least_ four hours."  
   "I want to stay with him," Nicky protested.  
   "Lo non ti costringo a nulla, ma io insisto che si prende _una pausa_ di Nicky, _please_."  
Tony and Nicky stared each other down in a passionate determined battle of wills.  
   "Fine, Tengo rabbia, lo so che ci tieni. I'm just.. _so worried_."  
   "I know amore, but watching him sleep isn't going to change anything. Come and eat, relax with the family."  
Nicky gave him a softhearted smile. He kissed Davy's cheek and let himself be led from the room.  
                                                                                      *****  
   The lunch bell rang in the module bringing the men to file out for chow. Dylan and Chaz hung back, getting together at the end of the line. Ironically, Chaz now resided in cell twelve B. Neal took his tray to his usual table. He waited for the newcomers to take up the only available space: The small corner table to his right. Assuming nonchalance, he ate his meager meal paying careful attention to their conversation.  
   "You get the card?"  
   "Yep, hundred minutes. When you making the call?"  
   "Gonna try this afternoon, you'll have to slip it to me after chow."  
   "You gonna do em both or just Rocket?"  
   "You're fuckin _right_ I am. Rocket is going down for running that mouth of his. The little _English_ prick is getting iced just because he got off my _hook_."  
   "You sure he'll make both hits on one ticket?"  
   "The price is right, Ripper can't say no to _five g's_. Besides, he _loves_ the kill."  
   "This food friggin _sucks_."  
   "No shit dumbass, its jail food. Wait'll we can buy commissary, it'll be better then."  
   "So David _fuckin_ Jones is gonna get bit in the ass after all."  
   "Please, I'm trying to eat this garbage; just hearing his name nauseates me. Little fucking _Limey queer_."  
   "He got off the murder rap, but he won't get away from you twice _eh Dyl_?"  
   "Not a chance man, by the weekend he'll be pushing up daisies. Slide me the calling card."  
   The bell signaling lunch was over rang out and the inmates moved to empty their trays and form a line. Neal took his time, lingering to fall to the end of the group.  
   " **Pierce**!" The duty guard called to Neal.  
   " _ **What**_?"  
   "This isn't your _momma's_ place asshole, go back and take care of your tray."  
   "Don't talk _shit_ about my mother Dupree."  
   "You're lookin for a stick upside that empty head of yours boy, you'd best shut your pie hole and do what you're told."  
   Neal flipped him the finger as he walked back to the table. The line of inmates moved out, heading back to the block.  
   "Nice shtick Pierce," the guard chided, "you _get_ anything?"  
   " _Jackpot_ boss, I need to get this tape up to administration, _**now**_!"


	11. Chapter 11

   Nicky and the others spent a leisurely, lengthy late-morning brunch at The Kettle restaurant. The meal as well as the quiet company was exactly what Nicky needed. Full stomachs and a rough night tending to Davy had Nicky and Micky dozing at the table. Like it or not, Tony and Mike decided to cart them back to the hotel for a forced nap.  
   "This isn't _fair_ ," Nicky grumbled in the car.  
   " _Life_ isn't fair kiddo. Besides, it’s not as if I'm keeping you there all day - we'll _all_ be back at the hospital this afternoon. I only want you to rest a while."  
   "Well, I suppose I could do with a _little_ nap. **_Promise_** me we're going back up to see Davy?"  
   "Nicky! You **_hurt_** me! I wouldn't say it if it _weren't so_."  
   "I'm sorry, I know you're right. Forgive me my careless words; it has been such an _emotional_ time.”  
   "Mi amici, of course; you _know_ you're my heart. If you don't look after _yourself_ , how can you be strong for the little one?"  
   "I know. I trust your judgment Tony, you've been my _only constant_. I'll do what you ask."  
   " _Grazie_."  
                                                                                      *****  
   Camryn and Melody boarded the elevator to go to the third floor. Clutching their purchases from the hospital gift shop, they were eager to visit the young Englishman whose life Dylan had nearly destroyed. Once on the floor they stopped at the desk to locate Davy's room.  
   "Third one on the right," the nurse advised.  
   "Thank you."  
   Melody tapped softly on the closed door and they stepped into the room. The pitiful state of the sleeping man caught the girls off guard, and they paused, clinging to each other, their breath caught in their throats.  
   "Oh my _God_ Cam!"  
   "I know Mel, _I know_!"  
   Moving to his bedside, they gazed into the wreckage of his handsome youthful face.  
   "Oh Davy I am _so sorry_ ," Melody spoke quietly, "I should've spoken out _so much sooner!_ "  
   Tears stood in her eyes, waiting to spill past the fleshy dam.  
   "It’s not your fault Mel," Camryn soothed, "nobody really thought Dyl was smart enough to pull it off - and nobody that would try to stop it even knew."  
   Davy opened his eyes to see the two girls standing beside him.  
   "Oh, 'ello," he yawned, "Do I _know_ you?"  
   "Not exactly, I'm Melody and this is my friend Camryn.. Dylan Roberts is my _ex_ -boyfriend."  
   Davy blinked at them in innocent confusion.  
   "I'm sorry, _who_?"  
   "Dylan.. the guy who _set you up_.”  
   "I s'pose I should explain, I've 'ad something 'appen to me 'ead n it seems it’s knocked loose a few things. I cahn't _remember_ some stuff."  
   "You mean like **_amnesia_**?" Camryn asked.  
   "Yaa, that's what they’re callin it."  
   "Wow, that’s _terrible -_ I hope you'll be okay!. Oh, this is for you."  
   She handed him a small blue teddy bear.  
   "Oh, well thank you very much, tha's so _sweet_! The Doctor seems to think it will all straighten out ovah time.. I 'ope so."  
   "I got you this," Melody said, handing him a gift bag.  
   "Thanks, how _thoughtful_!"  
   He opened the bag to find a handmade necklace - a sand dollar on a beaded black nylon cord. Along with it, was a laminated printed card that read 'The Legend of the Sand Dollar'. He read the poem and smiled up at her.  
   "That's really lovely; I've never _seen_ that one before."  
   "I hope you like it."  
   "Yes, I love them _both_ , thanks for thinking of me."  
   "You're welcome. Is there anything we can get for you? A snack or drink? A magazine?"  
   "No, thanks, it's a nice gesture though."  
   "I'm so happy they figured out it wasn't you that murdered Roger. Camryn and I both gave statements to the police on your behalf."  
   "I appreciate that."  
   "Hey, are you okay? You look a little.. _green_ all of a sudden."  
   "It’s fine. I'm having trouble processing some details about the missing memories. It gives me _terrible_ 'eadaches."  
   "Let's go Cam, he needs to rest."  
   "Right, we've upset you - sorry about that."  
   "S'not yer fault, you'd no idea me 'ead was on backwards. Maybe we can get together when I'm _more meself_."  
   "That'd be nice."  
   "Hope things get better soon," Camryn called as they were leaving.  
                                                                                      *****  
   Neal sat across from Captain Holman, his blue shirt unbuttoned to the waist, a guard from inmate affairs removing the micro-recorder taped to his chest.  
   "We appreciate your assistance in this matter Mr. Pierce; if you've done your job properly I'll see that your efforts are _rewarded_."  
   "Here's the tape Captain."  
   "Thank you Jeffries, you can go now."  
   When the two men were alone in the closed office, Captain Holman listened to the recorded conversation.  
   " _Very_ good work, I'm impressed. Looks like you weren't pulling my string on this one Neal. I'm curious though, why?"  
   "Why what?"  
   "There were other.. _opportunities_ ; times when we’ve approached you for help with information and you flat out refused. _Why now_?"  
   "When I realized they were talking about the Jones kid Captain, I knew _had_ to do something. That kid was as clean as a whistle, innocent and green. Reminds me of my little brother Kevin, _may he rest in peace_."  
   "For your peace of mind Neal, I want you to know that this will be held against them, they'll both be prosecuted for this as conspiracy to commit murder."  
   "Good to hear, I'm no angel Captain or else I wouldn't be here. But I've never hurt anyone, and I _truly hate_ violence - especially against an innocent kid."  
   The administrator nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his features.  
   "How much time you have left with us Pierce?"  
   "Eighty-one days."  
   "Hmm. Why don't I cut that down a bit for your.. _civic_ undertakings. Say we make it _thirty_ days. It'll take that long to process the paperwork anyway."  
   "Are you **_SERIOUS_**?"  
   "You've been a model prisoner Neal, you take in the underdogs and show them the ropes, and you look after the weak ones and easy targets. This thing you've done here," he gestured to the tape, "speaks highly of your rehabilitated perspective."  
   "Captain Holman - I can't **_begin_** to thank you enough! I'm _stunned_ , really."  
   "You want to thank me Neal? _Don't come back_."  
   "You got it."  
                                                                                      *****  
   "Hey Micky," Peter called, "you about ready to go?"  
   "Almost man, I'm trying to find my bracelet, I thought I left it on the dresser but I don't see it anywhere."  
   "You mean the one Davy bought for you?"  
   "Yaa, have you seen it?"  
   "Yes. You left it on the bathroom sink. I was afraid it'd fall in the drain so I put it in the freezer."  
   "Why in the _freezer_?"  
   "Well, I figured that if I forgot where I put it you'd be mad at me and I'd probably cry. When I cry a lot, my eyes swell up and I have to put ice on them. So when I went to get the ice I'd find the bracelet and you wouldn't be mad at me anymore."  
   " ... So why didn't you just _give_ me the bracelet?"  
   "Because Mick. Everyone always yells at me for being such a dummy. This way I got to explain my idea so you'd _KNOW_ I was using my head this time."  
   "Smart thinking Pete," Micky rolled his eyes.  
   "Thanks Micky," Peter grinned.  
   Finally managing to get out the door, they piled into Tony's Maserati, heading for Davy once again. Gerry phoned to tell Tony he had picked up Davy's possessions from the county jail: He would meet them at the hospital. On entering room three-eighteen, they were surprised to find Davy sitting on the side of his bed. Dr. Bowen was removing the bandage from his head.  
   "Hey Bubba, looking _good_!"  
   "Nice to see you up a little kiddo."  
   "Hey guys, they’re letting me 'ave something to eat, _FINALLY_."  
   "You poor thing," Micky said sincerely, "you must be going _crazy_!"  
   "Ya kidding, I'm **_stahrving_**!"  
   "The walkin stomachs ladies and germs," Mike teased, "I swear you two could eat if someone cutcher _gizzards_ out."  
   "Right now I'd be willing to try," Davy grinned.  
   "Okay," Dr. Bowen warned, "if anyone gets squeamish, now's the time to leave the room."  
   Everyone turned to Peter.  
   "Why are you all looking at me, I can _take_ it."  
   "Pete you get _nauseous_ on the subway," Micky pointed out.  
   "Yaa," Mike added, "and you get dizzy pushing a _grocery cart_."  
   "You nearly passed out when I _skinned my knee_ at the skate rink," Nicky grinned.  
   "Too much sauce on my pasta and you put your _head_ between your knees," Tony winked.  
   "Sorry Petah, they've gotcha dead to rights on this man," Davy smiled.  
   Peter pouted, folding his arms across his chest and stomped from the room.  
   "I'll go look after _Peter_ ," Mike sighed, following him out the door.  
   "Alright David, be very still. I'm going to remove the final layer of the bandage now."  
   Davy closed his eyes and sat perfectly statue-like, almost forgetting to breathe. A rush of cool air hit his head and he shivered briefly. Out of sheer morbid curiosity, Tony, Micky and Nicky were edging in for a closer look.  
   "You can see it if you wish," Dr. Bowen offered, "provided it’s alright with David."  
   "Fine by me - if someone takes a picture - I cahn't exactly _see_ the back of me own 'ead."  
   "Ooh! _I'll_ do it!" Micky volunteered.  
   "Easy Mick," Tony laughed, "I haven’t seen you this excited since we dissected frogs in _grade school_.”  
   "The hole is right back here behind his ear," the doctor pointed out, "there's a sterile drainage tube that leads in between his sigmoid sinus and foramen magnus."  
   "Okaay," Micky said as muddled as possible, "pardonay moi gentlemen, _ace photographer_ in action."  
   He whipped out his cell phone and snapped off several pictures from various angles, the flash illuminating Davy from behind like a halo.  
   "Alrighty then," Dr. Bowen interrupted, "let's get this drainage tube out of you shall we?"  
   "Is it gon'ta hurt doc?"  
   "You may experience some discomfort, but if there's a lot of pain involved, _please_ let me know."  
   With gloved hands he schmoozed the exposed rubber tubing with a sterile lubricant. Very gently but with firm pressure, he grasped the tiny hose with a pair of hemostats and began to tug it free of its moorings. Davy grimaced, making a fist of his good hand. His eyes squeezed shut, he made a light humming in the back of his throat.  
   "Okay there son?"  
   "Y-yaa, it just feels.. _weird_."  
   "Almost finished."  
   He pulled it loose and laid its gooey bloodied end on a piece of gauze. Sealing the tiny hole in his skull with a heavy dab of Vaseline and covering it with a clean, square bandage he pronounced the job done.  
   "Looks _real_ good. We'll get some food in you and if it stays down we'll get that IV out of your arm."  
   "Sounds great."  
   "Hey doc?" Micky asked.  
   "Yes."  
   "How long till his hair grows back in? Or.. _will_ it?"  
   "It will be several months before the skin fully heals over the drainage hole, and while hair will probably never grow on that eighth of an inch _area_ , the rest should cover it over in about five or six weeks."  
   When the doctor had left, a fuming, wide-eyed Englishman grabbed for Micky's phone.  
   "Gimme that thing - d'ya mean to tell me they _cut_ me 'air?!"  
   "Of course not," Micky grinned, "they _shaved it off_."  
   " _BLOODY **FUCKING** HELL_!!" he cried, looking at the snapshots.  
   "Watch your mouth!" Tony admonished.  
   "Bust me _laytah_! This is fu-"  
   "Bubba I _**suggest** _ you take his advice. Tony curses once in a blue moon - when _SERIOUSLY_ provoked - but he positively **HATES** the eff word!"  
   Davy caught a glimpse of the rigid expression on Tony's usually casual, relaxed face and bit back a bit of sass.  
   "I'm sorry Tony," he said earnestly.  
   "Okay kiddo, I'll let it slide - _THIS_ time. But Davy you're a smart, handsome classy guy. Language like.. _THAT word_ \- makes you sound like a common guttersnipe. Do what you will in private, but if I hear it again you'll be belching _bubbles_ , you get me?"  
   "Very clearly," he answered, ducking his head sheepishly.  
   "I cahn't b' _lieve_ they shaved my fu - _flippin_ head."  
   Tony grinned broadly.  
   "Don't worry cookie," Micky smiled mischievously, "this way I can see to _comb my hair_ while you use the mirror."  
   "Tony," Davy glared at Micky, "please just **ONCE** more?"  
   "You know I love you baby," Micky teased from a safe distance.  
   Mike and Peter rejoined the group with Gerry at their heels.  
   "Ahh, the man of the hour!" Tony lauded.  
   "Don't give me so much credit, a lot of people played a role in making this happen."  
   At these words, he snapped a newspaper open in front of the gathered friends.  
   "Oh my _gosh_ Davy!" Nicky declared, "You’re on the _front page_ of the _**LA Times**_!"  
   "Jones case dismissed as new evidence proves innocence. Judge Huff clears Malibu man's record, apologizes on behalf of county." Micky read aloud.  
   "Lemme _see_ that!" Davy grinned.  
   "Uhh _Tiny_?" Mike voiced his worry, "are you _sure_ you oughtta be a readin this?"  
   "Well yaa Mike, _why not_?"  
   Everyone looked to Tony for a decision.  
   "If he wants to see it, let him. He's getting stronger and we're all here with him."  
   Gerry leaned forward, handing him the paper.  
   "You're _sure_?"  
   Hand already on the crisp, white sheet, Davy only nodded.  
   His head down, he slowly scanned the page, noting his own picture at the top of the article. Skimming his way down, a related piece went on to identify the true perpetrators of the crime. Three photos caught his attention and he drew in his breath sharply. One of the men seemed familiar but he couldn't quite place him. The other two he recognized immediately: _Dylan Roberts and Chaz Blakely_.  
   The sudden onslaught of memories knocked him into a dizzying spiral of mental images. His eyes widened, his heart pounded in his chest, as full clarity struck him head on and he remembered everything. Suddenly feeling as though he couldn't breathe he sucked in a harsh choking attempt at a breath. A raspy, sputtering cough ensued, his eyes watering he pleaded silently for help.  
   "Davy! _Bubba_ are you alright?"  
   "Somebody get him some _water_!"  
   " _Pat_ him on the back!"  
   " **Let me _in_ here**!" Micky nearly howled.  
   Rushing to stand before him, he cupped Davy's face in both of his hands.  
   " _Listen_ to me! **_You're okay_** ; **nobody** is going to mess with you without going through **ME** _first_! Calm down little one and _take a breath_. "  
   Davy gazed into the light-brown liquid pools that were Micky's calming eyes. His sweet, sentimental, steadying Micky - holding him firmly but oh so tenderly - staring into his very soul.  
   "I've _got_ you, just **_look_** at me Davy and _breathe_!" he soothed.  
   Davy took a hitching breath. He felt as though a cool cascade of water poured over him, refreshing him in body and spirit. His shoulders visibly relaxed and his heartbeat slowed to a simple, peaceful drumbeat. Micky leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to his mouth, stroking his silky hair. When he drew back, Davy was smiling and calm.  
   " _Better_ now?"  
   "Yes, I'm great," he said softly, briefly touching the warm lips in front of him with his fingertips.  
   Micky sat beside him, smiling casually up at his friends. Nicky wore a bemused smile, seemingly touched by the show of affection. Peter was shedding happy tears.  
   "I'm _truly impressed_ , mi amici."  
   "Mick that was _high cotton_ shotgun."  
   "So, do you.. _remember_?" Tony ventured.  
   "Every _single **moment**_. The other guy in the paper? Slap a phony mustache on 'im n you'll _'ave_ yer killer."  
   "He's absolutely correct," Gerry chimed in, "Chaz Blakely _confessed_ to the murder, with Dylan and Ben as conspirators."  
   "So Rocket _WAS_ involved," Peter said sadly.  
   "He lured Roger Perry to the party the night he was killed. He was also responsible for connecting Dylan with Davy that day on the beach, it was all a setup Peter, I'm sorry."  
   "Say Tiny, didja know ol _Cotton_ here pretty much started the ball rolling to clear yer name?  
   "No, I'd _**n** **o**_ idea!"  
   "Yessiree, risked life n limb wearin a wire to go see that'are _Rocket_ fella n get him to talk."  
   Peter puffed up at Mike's praise, just as Mike had hoped.  
   "Yes," Tony added, catching Mike's tactic, "his brave actions set off a chain of events that led to the confessions and arrest of _everyone_ involved, and ultimately _your_ release."  
   " _WOW_ Petah, I dunno what to say. Thanks mate, you _**really**_ saved my life!"  
   His scoundrel of a former friend forgotten, Peter beamed at his little pal.  
   "Shucks Davy, t'weren't nothin really. I missed you man; nobody _else_ lets me win at checkers."  
   "I love _you too_ Petah," he grinned brightly.  
   "What do you say we skip the hospital food and I call out for something _GOOD_ to eat? Sound like something you can handle kiddo? _Don't_ overload your stomach, if you think it’s too soon."  
   " _Chinese alright_?" Davy grinned, practically drooling.  
   "Any objections? _No_? Chinese it is," Tony smiled, "I'll get the usual delivered up here."  
     
   Thirty-five minutes later the bountiful meal arrived, Tony and Micky meeting the delivery driver in the lobby. Davy ate with great relish all of his favorite Szechuan cuisines.  
   "He's _definitely_ getting better," Micky joked, holding his own bulging belly, "He out-ate _ME_ and he's _**still**_ going strong!"  
   "Makin up for _lost time_ 'ere ya know," Davy smiled.  
   "Good to have you looking like yourself again little bro."  
   "Fortune cookies everybody!" Peter cried with childlike glee, "Here Davy, _you_ pick first."  
   Visually fishing through the styrofoam carton, he searched out the one he felt was destined for him.  
   "Erm.. _this_ one."  
   Peter chose his own and passed the box along. Cracking open the crispy cookies they eagerly read the silly fortunes predicted inside. With a despairing look, Davy fell silent.  
   " _Dave?_ What's the matter babe?"  
   "Oh nothing," he sighed, "I jus' read me _fortune_ s'all."  
   The others exchanged perplexed, curious glances.  
   "Okay, _what does it say_?"  
   An impish, weary grin on his face, Davy handed the slip of paper to Micky, who read it aloud:  
   "In six weeks time you will embark on a grand and dangerous adventure full of mystery and intrigue."  
       For a moment, nobody spoke.  
   "Anyone wanna _trade_ with me?" Davy asked with a chuckle, "I think I've _'ad_ my share of adventure for a while."  
   "Don't worry Davy," Peter smiled with innocent zeal, "if you don't eat the cookie it _won't_ come true!"  
   " ... too late for _that_ big Pete."  
   "Oh boy," Peter frowned, "here we go _again_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to:  
> K-man  
> Willie  
> Jean

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to:  
> K-man  
> Willie  
> Jean


End file.
